ked up into the speaker's strangely kind and patient
eyes, and drew sweet re-assurance from them.

"Madame," said Monsieur Vignevielle, "wad pud you hout so hearly dis
morning?"

She told him her errand. She asked if he thought she would find
anything.

"Yez," he said, "it was possible--a few lill' _becassines-de-mer_, ou
somezin' ligue. But fo' w'y you lill' gal lose doze hapetide?"

"Ah, Miche,"--Madame Delphine might have tried a thousand times again
without ever succeeding half so well in lifting the curtain upon the
whole, sweet, tender, old, old-fashioned truth,--"Ah, Miche, she wone
tell me!"

"Bud, anny'ow, Madame, wad you thing?"

"Miche," she replied, looking up again with a tear standing in either
eye, and then looking down once more as she began to speak, "I thing--I
thing she's lonesome."

"You thing?"

She nodded.

"Ah! Madame Carraze," he said, partly extending his hand, "you see? 'Tis
impossible to mague you' owze shud so tighd to priv-en dad. Madame, I
med one mizteg."

"Ah, _non_, Miche!"

"Yez. There har nod one poss'bil'ty fo' me to be dad guardian of you'
daughteh!"

Madame Delphine started with surprise and alarm.

"There is ondly one wad can be," he continued.

"But oo, Miche?"

"God."

"Ah, Miche Vignevielle----" She looked at him appealingly.

"I don' goin' to dizzerd you, Madame Carraze," he said.

She lifted her eyes. They filled. She shook her head, a tear fell, she
bit her lip, smiled, and suddenly dropped her face into both hands, sat
down upon the bench and wept until she shook.

"You dunno wad I mean, Madame Carraze?"

She did not know.

"I mean dad guardian of you' daughteh godd to fine 'er now one 'uzban';
an' noboddie are hable to do dad egceb de good God 'imsev. But, Madame,
I tell you wad I do."

She rose up. He continued:

"Go h-open you' owze; I fin' you' daughteh dad' uzban'."

Madame Delphine was a helpless, timid thing; but her eyes showed she was
about to resent this offer. Monsieur Vignevielle put forth his hand--it
touched her shoulder--and said, kindly still, and without eagerness.

"One w'ite man, Madame; 'tis prattycabble. I _know_ 'tis prattycabble.
One w'ite jantleman, Madame. You can truz me. I goin' fedge 'im.
H-ondly you go h-open you' owze."

Madame Delphine looked down, twining her handkerchief among her fingers.

He repeated his proposition.

"You will come firz by you'se'f?" she asked.

"Iv you wand."

She lifted up once