for my own
sins.

"It is an adventure, Helena!" said I. "Had you not been far the most
beautiful woman in this restaurant to-night, and had not Jean been all
eyes for you, he otherwise would have looked at this paper rather than
at you. Then he would have looked at us both and must have seen the
truth."

"It is an adventure," said she slowly, her color heightening; and
later, "You carried it off well, Harry."

I bowed to her across the table. "Need was to act quickly, for even
this vile newspaper cut is a likeness of you. One glance from Jean,
which may come at any moment later, Helena, and your parole will be
needless further."

"I confess I wished to test you. It was wrong, foolish of me, Harry."

"You have been tested no less, Helena, to-night. And I have found you
a gentle high-born lady, as I had always known you to be. _Noblesse
oblige_, my dear, and you have proved it so to-night. Any time from
now until twelve you need no more than raise a finger--I might not
even see you do so--and you might go free. Why do you not?"

"If the woodcock is as good as the canvasback," was her somewhat
irrelevant reply, "I shall call the evening a success, after all."

But Helena scarcely more than tasted her bird, and pushed back after a
time the broiled mushroom which Jean offered her gently.

"Does not your appetite remain?" I inquired. "Come, you must not break
Jean's heart doubly."

She only pushed back her chair. "I am sorry," said she, "but I want to
go back to the boat."

"Back to the boat! You astonish me. I thought escape from the _Belle
Helene_ was the one wish of your heart these days."

"And so it is."

"Then, Helena, why not escape here and now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I do not mean for you to break your parole--I know you too well for
that. But give me additional parole, my dear girl. Give me your word.
Say that one word. Then we can rise here and announce to Mr. Davidson
and all the world and its newspapers that no crime has been done and
only a honeymoon has been begun. Come, Helena, all the world loves a
lover. All New Orleans will love us if you will raise your finger and
say the word."

I looked toward her. Her head was bent and tears were dropping from
her eyes, tears faithfully concealed by her kerchief. But she said no
word to me, and at her silence my own heart sank--sank until my
courage was quite gone, until I felt the return of a cold brutality.
Still I endeavored to be gentle with o