ld worship what he could
never hope to possess. He would rather worship this than win such kind
as he would dare woo.

He said all these things in a very quiet way, with now and then a
silent pause, and now and then a calm, self-contained tone in
resuming; yet his sentences were often disconnected, and often were
half soliloquy. Such were the only betrayals of emotion on either side
until Claude began to treat--in the words just given--his father's own
heart interests; then the father's eyes stood brimming full. But St.
Pierre did not speak. From the first he had listened in silence and he
offered no interruption until at length Claude came to that part about
the object of his regard being so far, so utterly, beyond his reach.
Then--

"Stop! Dass all foolishness! You want her? You kin have her!"

"Ah, papa! you dawn't awnstand! What I am?"

"Ah, bah! What anybody is? What she is? She invanted bigger mash-in
dan you? a mo' better corn-stubbl' destroyer and plant-corner?" He
meant corn-planter. "She invant a more handier doubl'-action pea-vine
rake? What she done mak' her so gran'? Naw, sir! She look fine in de
face, yass; and dass all you know. Well, dass all right; dass de
'Cajun way--pick 'em out by face. You begin 'Cajun way, for why you
dawn't finish 'Cajun way? All you got do, you git good saddle-hoss and
ride. Bom-bye you see her, you ride behind her till you find where her
daddy livin' at. Den you ride pas' yondah every day till fo', five
days, and den you see de ole man come scrape friend wid you. Den he
hass you drop round, and fus' t'ing you know--_adjieu la calege!_"

Claude did not dispute the point, though he hardly thought this case
could be worked that way. He returned in silent thought to the
question, how to find Madame Beausoleil. He tried the mail; no
response. He thought of advertising; but that would never do. Imagine,
"If Madame Beausoleil, late of Vermilionville, will leave her address
at this office, she will hear of something not in the least to her
advantage." He couldn't advertise.

It was midday following the eve of his confession to his father. For
the last eleven or twelve days, ever since he had seen that blessed
apparition turn with the two young friends into Canal Street out of
Bourbon--he had been venturing daily, for luncheon, just down into
Bourbon Street, to the Christian Women's Exchange. Now, by all the
laws of fortune he should in that time have seen in there at least
once