through the wooing and the breaking of her promise, and now
came the rush of the young man down to the nearest village to drown his
chagrin and forget her in the mad dance, the "Czardas," which followed.

As the czardas quickened until its pace reached the speed of a
whirlwind, de Savignac suddenly staggered to his feet--his breath coming
in short gasps.

"Sit down!" I pleaded, not liking the sudden purplish hue of his
cheeks.

"Let--me--alone," he stammered, half angrily. "It--is so good--to--be
alive again."

"You shall not," I whispered, my eye catching sight of a gold louis
between his fingers. "You don't know what you are doing--it is not
right--this is my dinner, old friend--_all of it_, do you understand?"

"Let--me--alone," he breathed hoarsely, as I tried to get hold of the
coin--"it is my last--my last--my last!"--and he tossed the gold piece
to the band. It fell squarely on the cymballum and rolled under the
strings.

"Bravo!" cried a little woman opposite, clapping her warm, jewelled
hands. Then she screamed, for she saw Monsieur de Savignac sway heavily,
and sink back in his seat, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed.

I ripped open his collar and shirt to give him breath. Twice his chest
gave a great bound, and he murmured something I did not catch--then he
sank back in my arms--dead.

During the horror and grim reality of it all--the screaming women, the
physician working desperately, although he knew all hope was gone--while
the calm police questioned me as to his identity and domicile, I shook
from head to foot--and yet the worst was still to come--I had to tell
Madame de Savignac.

[Illustration: spilled bottle of wine]

* * * * *

[Illustration: The man with the gun]

CHAPTER NINE

THE MAN WITH THE GUN

It is at last decided! The kind and sympathetic Minister of Agriculture
has signed the official document opening the shooting-season for hares
and partridges in _La belle France_, to-morrow, Sunday, the thirtieth of
September. Thrice happy hunters!--they who had begun to grumble in their
cafes over the rumour that the opening of the shooting-season might be
postponed until the second or even third Sunday in October.

My good friend the mayor of Pont du Sable has just handed me my
hunting-permit for the coming year bearing the stamp of the _Republique
Francaise_, the seal of the prefecture, the signature of the prefet, and
inc