She sat in a chair against the wall of the room the Richlings had
occupied, a spectacle of agitated dejection. Here and there about the
apartment, either motionless in chairs, or moving noiselessly about,
and pulling and pushing softly this piece of furniture and that, were
numerous vulture-like persons of either sex, waiting the up-coming of
the auctioneer. Narcisse approached her briskly.

"Well, Madame Zenobie!"--he spoke in French--"is it you who lives here?
Don't you remember me? What! No? You don't remember how I used to steal
figs from you?"

The vultures slowly turned their heads. Madame Zenobie looked at him in
a dazed way.

No, she did not remember. So many had robbed her--all her life.

"But you don't look at me, Madame Zenobie. Don't you remember, for
example, once pulling a little boy--as little as _that_--out of your
fig-tree, and taking the half of a shingle, split lengthwise, in your
hand, and his head under your arm,--swearing you would do it if you died
for it,--and bending him across your knee,"--he began a vigorous but
graceful movement of the right arm, which few members of our fallen race
could fail to recognize,--"and you don't remember me, my old friend?"

She looked up into the handsome face with a faint smile of affirmation.
He laughed with delight.

"The shingle was _that_ wide. Ah! Madame Zenobie, you did it well!" He
softly smote the memorable spot, first with one hand and then with the
other, shrinking forward spasmodically with each contact, and throwing
utter woe into his countenance. The general company smiled. He suddenly
put on great seriousness.

"Madame Zenobie, I hope your furniture is selling well?" He still spoke
in French.

She cast her eyes upward pleadingly, caught her breath, threw the back
of her hand against her temple, and dashed it again to her lap, shaking
her head.

Narcisse was sorry.

"I have been doing what I could for you, downstairs,--running up the
prices of things. I wish I could stay to do more, for the sake of old
times. I came to see Mr. Richling, Madame Zenobie; is he in? Dr. Sevier
wants him."

Richling? Why, the Richlings did not live there! The Doctor must know
it. Why should she be made responsible for this mistake? It was his
oversight. They had moved long ago. Dr. Sevier had seen them looking for
apartments. Where did they live now? Ah, me! _she_ could not tell. Did
Mr. Richling owe the Doctor something?

"Owe? Certainly not. The Doctor