at, man!"

Poussette, with large, noble gestures, waved the divorce away.

"I say nothing. I will do nothing. But if you will be so kind, sir,
as to speak of me to Mees Clairville, should my wife, Mme.
Natalie--die! Tell her, sir, how I am good man, _au fond_, sir, by my
nature; how I love the leetle babee, plenty small babee; how I am kind,
jolly man, by my nature, sir; how I would like to marry with her, give
her good tam. You tell her this, Mr. Ringfield, for me, and make me
your best friend, sure?"

Half-laughing, half-shocked, and for the moment forgetting his own
views and dreams concerning her, Ringfield acceded to the unusual
request.

"And remember, m'sieu--tell her I go no more on the dhrunk after I
marry with her--no, sir, go no more 'tall. If we live in Morreall,
tell her I'll go no more on that Hotel Champlain neither; a friend of
mine, Napoleon Legendre, he has a temperance 'otel in Craig Street; I
go there, sir, and never touch even one glass of beer. Tell her that.
And tell her I am for selling this place, and p'raps buy Clairville
Chateau. Tell her----"

"Enough, enough, my good Poussette!" cried Ringfield, jumping up as he
heard feminine voices nearing their retreat. "Your virtuous
resolutions do you credit, and may you be enabled to perform and carry
them through--if not to the letter at least in the spirit."

"And you don't think me _bad, low_ kind of _garcon_, eh?"

"I do not, indeed."

"Say"--and Poussette's hand instinctively moved towards the
counter--"you will dhrink a leetle glass beer, just one, sir, on that
with me?"

"Poussette!"

With an injured expression, and a rapidity amazing for so fat a man,
Poussette slipped round behind the counter and brought out two bottles
of ginger ale; in a twinkling the tall tumblers were ready and he
offered one to Ringfield with a deep and exaggerated bow.

"Ah--I see. I beg your pardon, Poussette. I thought you meant the
other kind. Of course I will drink with you and with pleasure."

The glasses were placed side by side, each taking one and looking
intently at one another. In that moment all selfishness died out of
Ringfield; he felt the importance of the opportunity.

"Will you shake hands first, Poussette?"

"_Mais oui_, m'sieu! _Certainement_, but wait, sir, one moment!"

With repeated rubbings on the clean roller-towel behind him, turning
back of cuffs and a general straightening of the person and freshening
of the atti