hed Le Brux, "go on. Just like that, go on. Well, your boy
went on. He felt her head, her arms, her shoulders; you could see his
fingers seeking things out. Cellette is a model born--and trained. She
stood it wonderfully until he came to the muscles of her back. You know
how we all like to have our backs scratched, just like dogs and cats?
Well, I don't suppose Cellette had ever happened on just that feeling
before. It touched the cat chord. She began to gurgle and--and wriggle.
'Keep still, please,' says the boy, very grave and earnest. And a minute
later, 'Keep still, will you?' Then he came to her ribs."

Le Brux's cheeks puffed out, and he showed other signs of distress, but
he controlled himself.

"After that," he continued, "things happened more or less at one and the
same time. Cellette giggled and squirmed. Then the boy got angry and
cried, 'Will you keep still? and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook
her! Shook Cellette till her little head went zig-zag-zigzag. It took
her the sixteenth part of a second to get to her feet, and when she
slapped him I myself saw stars. At the same time I saw her face, and I
yelled, 'Run, boy! Run!' For a second he stood paralyzed with
wonder,--just long enough for her to get in another slap,--and then,
just as she was curving her fingers, he--he ran. Her nails only took a
strip out of his jacket! Oh! oh!"

"_Maitre,"_ cried Leighton, tears crawling down his cheeks, "don't you
dare stop! Go on! Go _on_ Finish now while you have the strength."

"Here they passed and there," groaned Le Brux, pointing at bits of ruin,
"then I yelled, 'Boy, don't go out of the door, whatever you do. She'll
follow sure, and we'll never hear the last of it.' Then the thought came
to me that he was the son of my friend. I lifted up the end of the
throne. He shot under it. I let it down quickly. I sat upon it. I
laughed--I----"

Le Brux stopped and stared. Leighton, his feet outstretched, his head
thrown back, his arms hanging limp, was laughing as he had never laughed
before. As quick as a cat, Le Brux reached out for the pail and dashed
its remaining contents in Leighton's face.

"I cannot bear an obligation," he said grimly as Leighton spluttered and
choked. "Thou savedst my life; I save thine. How is it you say in
English? 'One good turn deserves another!'"

"_Matre,"_ said Leighton, drying his face and then his eyes, "where is
the boy now? He's--he's not still under the throne?"

"I don't