he White Cascade--yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was not
worthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he was
young then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a long
story, and you have much to tell, how much--who knows?" She came slowly
forward and said with a painful effort:

"You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me.

"Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look so
charming as now--never. But the great surprise of seeing your husband,
it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for you to
change all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy.... You remember
the song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, I have
not forgotten it--

"'Nos amants sont en guerre,
Vole, mon coeur, vole.'"

He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyes
the torture he was inflicting.

"Oh, Mother of God," she whispered, "have mercy! Can you not see, do you
not know? I am not as you left me."

"Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad that
you have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!"

"Envy--Pretty-Pierre," she repeated, in distress; "are you Pretty
Pierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!"

"Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Is
it not as good as Shon McGann?"

"Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!" she said mournfully. "It was with
you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. You
know, then, that I am--that I am married--to him?"

"Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage." He rose to his feet
slowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. "Yes," he
continued, "and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre."

She spread out her hands appealingly.

"But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? I
will tell you in two hours. It is now eight o'clock. At ten o'clock Shon
McGann will meet me at the Saints' Repose. Then you shall know....
Ah, it is a pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that.
Wine--it has danger; cards--there is peril in that sport; women--they
make trouble most of all."

"O God," she piteously said, "what did I do? There was no sin in me.
I was your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You left
me, cheated me, brought this upon me. It is you that has done this
wickedness, not I." She buri