nture, though, was too enticing, and the hotter counsels of
youth prevailed. I bade the gentlemen good night, and remained sitting
at table with Yvard. It was but a few moments before I regretted my
unwise decision.

Yvard leaned forward, the edge of the table pressing against his
breast, and in so doing noticed the absence of the paper which he had
forgotten in the fight. His face changed instantly, the drunken leer
vanished. At first there was merely a puzzled expression, as of an
intense effort to remember. He looked swiftly at me. I gave no sign.
The two men were gone. His anxiety convinced me of the importance of
the papers. He thought for a moment, then excused himself and went out
the way we came. As he passed through the room, I saw him stoop and
whisper a word to one of the men at the dice table. In a minute the
fellow shifted his seat, and though he continued to play, he had taken
a position where, as I imagined, he could watch me that I did not
leave. I became uneasy now, for I could not tell how many there were,
and my principal thought was how to get out of the house. Assuredly
not by the way I entered.

Looking about more carefully to note the different means of egress, my
attention was attracted by a carven shield above the main door. The
arms were the same as those graven on the locket shown me by Colonel
d'Ortez the night I left Biloxi. There, standing out boldly above the
door, was the same sable wolf, the crest of the d'Artins. For a moment
his story filled my mind again but I had no time then for such
reflections, and dismissed them to a future period of leisure. The
question how to leave the house on that particular night gave me
infinitely more concern than the idle speculation as to who had
probably owned it long years before.

CHAPTER VIII

A NEW FRIEND

I rapped on the table, called a waitress, and ordered a bottle of light
wine, which I knew would not hurt me.

"Send for Mademoiselle Florine," and before many seconds were gone that
lady presented herself, and perched upon the edge of the table where I
sat. Her humor was gay, her laugh was keen; she smiled and asked, "Has
Monsieur forgiven?" with such a penitent little look I bade her be at
ease.

"Mademoiselle, sit down, I pray you," and she saw by my serious face I
was in no mood for chaffing, so she seated herself with a pretty air of
attention. I could see the fellow at the dice watching, but now he
appeared