man of more
impulse and constitutional good-nature than depth. It is probable that
he knew that, and refrained from letting her into the knowledge of this
vice, contracted in the war when, seriously ill, he was able to drag
himself about from patient to patient only by the help of opium. He
was alive to his position and its consequences, and faced it. He had no
children, and he was glad of this for one reason. He could do nothing
now without the drug; it was as necessary as light to him. The little
bottle had been his friend so long, that, with his finger on its
smooth-edged cork, it was as though he held the tap of life.

The Little Chemist and Medallion kept the thing to themselves, but they
understood each other in the matter, and wondered what they could do
to cure him. The Little Chemist only shrank back, and said, "No, no,
pardon, my friend!" when Medallion suggested that he should speak to
Secord. But the Little Chemist was greatly concerned--for had not Secord
saved his beloved wife by a clever operation? and was it not her custom
to devote a certain hour every week to the welfare of Secord's soul and
body, before the shrine of the Virgin? Her husband told her now that
Secord was in trouble, and though he was far from being devout himself,
he had a shy faith in the great sincerity of his wife. She did her
best, and increased her offerings of flowers to the shrine; also, in her
simplicity, she sent Secord's wife little jars of jam to comfort him.

One evening the little coterie met by arrangement at the doctor's house.
After waiting an hour or two for Secord, who had been called away to
a critical case, the Avocat and the Cure went home, leaving polite
old-fashioned messages for their absent host; but the Little Chemist
and Medallion remained. For a time Mrs. Secord remained with them, then
retired, begging them to await her husband, who, she knew, would be
grateful if they stayed. The Little Chemist, with timid courtesy, showed
her out of the room, then came back and sat down. They were very silent.
The Little Chemist took off his glasses a half-dozen times, wiped them,
and put them back. Then suddenly turned on Medallion. "You mean to speak
to-night?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Regardez ca--well, well!"

Medallion never smoked harder than he did then. The Little Chemist
looked at him nervously again and again, listened towards the
door, fingered with his tumbler, and at last hearing the sound of
sleigh-bells, s