eeks ago they were all well?"

"Ah, not well--one wounded, one h'arm broke, one trench-fivver, but all
safe, laz' account."

"Tell me more about them, Beloiseau. You know I don't easily ask
personal questions. Tell me all I'm welcome to know, will you?"

"I want to do that--to tell you all; but"--M. Ducatel, next neighbor
above, was approaching--"better another time--ah, Rene, tha'z a pretty
warm evening, eh?"

XXXV

For two days more the vast machinery of the United States mail swung
back and forth across the continent and the oceans beyond, and in
unnumbered cities and towns the letter-carriers came and went; but
nothing they brought into Bienville or Royal Street bore tidings from
that execrable editor in New York who in salaried ease sat "holding up"
the manuscript once the impressionable Dora's, now the gentle Aline's.
The holiday--"everything shut up"--had arrived. No carrier was abroad.
Neither reason given for the joy-ride held good. Yet the project was
well on foot. The smaller car was at the De l'Isles' lovely gates,
with monsieur in the chauffeur's seat, Mme. Alexandre at his side, and
Dubroca close behind her. The larger machine stood at the opposite
curb, with Beloiseau for driver, and Mme. Dubroca--a very small, trim,
well-coiffed woman with a dainty lorgnette--in the first seat behind
him. Castanado waited in the street door at the foot of his stair,
down which Mme. Castanado was coming the only way she could come.

Her crossing of the sidewalk and her elevation first to the
running-board and then to a seat beside Mme. Dubroca took time and the
strength of both men, yet was achieved with a dignity hardly
appreciated by the street children, who covered their mouths, averted
their faces, and cheered as the two cars, the smaller leading, moved
off and turned from Royal Street into Conti on their way to pick up the
three Chapdelaines.

For nearly two hundred years--ever since the city had had a
post-office--the post-office had been not too superior to remain in the
_vieux carre_. Now, like so many old Creole homes themselves, it was
"away up" in the American quarter--or "nine-tenth'"--at Lafayette
Square. On holidays any one anxious enough for his mail to go "away up
yondah" between nine and ten A.M., could have it for the asking. And
such a one was Chester.

He had his reward. Twice and again he read the magazine's name on the
envelope as he bore it to the Camp Street front of th