one evening m. castanado sat reading to his wife from a fresh number of the weekly courier des etats-unis.

it was not long after the incident last mentioned. chester had become accustomed to his new lift in fortune, but as yet no further word as to the manuscript had reached him; he had only just written a second letter of inquiry after it. also that summons to the two aunts, from the archbishop, of which the pair were so sure, was still unheard; no need had arisen for aline to take any counter-step. we could name the exact date, for it was the day of the week on which the courier always came, and the week was the last in which a canal street movie-show beautifully presented the matchless bernhardt as a widowed shopkeeper--like mme. alexandre, but with a son, not daughter, in love.

the door-bell rang. castanado went down to the street. there, letting in a visitor, he spoke with such animation that madame, listening from her special seat, guessed, and before the two were half up-stairs knew, who it was. it was mélanie alexandre.

no one answered her mother's bell, she said, kissing madame lingeringly, twice on the forehead and once on either vast cheek. she was short and square, with such serene kindness of face and voice as to be the last you would ever pick out to fall into a mistake of passion, however exalted. of course, that serenity may have come since the mistake. both castanados seemed to take note of it as if it had come since, and she to be willing they should note it.

"no," they said, "mme. alexandre had gone with dubroca and his wife to that movie of sarah."

"and also with m. beloiseau?" asked mélanie, with a lurking smile, as she sat down so fondly close to madame as to leave both her small hands in one of her friend's.

"ah, now," madame exclaimed, "there is nothing in that! you ought to be rijoice' if there was."

the new look warmed in mélanie's eyes. "i'll be very glad if that time ever comes," she said.

"then you billieve in the second love?"

"ah, in a case like that! indeed, yes. in their first love they both were happy; the second would be in praise of the first."

"and to separate them there is only the street," castanado suggested, "and royal street, street of their birth and chilehood, and so narrow, it have the effect to join, not separate. but!"--he made a wary motion--"kip quite, eize they will not go into the net, those old bird', hah!"

there was a smiling silence, and then--"well," madame said, "they are all to stop here as they riturn. waiting here, you'll see them all."

"yes, and beside', i have some good news for you; news anyhow to me."

the pair smiled brightly: "you 'ave another letter from dubroca!"

"yes. he's again wounded and in hospital."

"oh-h, terrible! tha'z to you good news?"

"yes. look, monsieur; he has, at the front, the chance to be hit so many times. if he's hit and only wounded his chances to be hit again are made one less, eh? and while he's in hospital they are again two or three less. shall we not be glad for that? and moreover, how he got his wound, that is better. he got that taking, by himself, nine boches! and still the best news is what he writes about his friend castanado."

"ah, mélanie! and you hold that back till now? and you know we are without news of him sinze a month! he's promote'? he's decorate'?"

"he's found a treasure. i think maybe you'll get his letter to-morrow. me, i got mine soon; passing the post-office i went in and asked."

"but how, he found a treasure? and what sort?"

"he just happened to dig it up, in a cellar, in rheims. he's betrothed.'

"mélanie! what are you saying?"

"what he says. and that's all he says. i hope you'll hear all about that to-morrow."

"oh, any'ow tha'z the bes' of news!" castanado said, kissing his wife's hand and each temple. "doubtlezz he's find some lovely orphan of that hideouz war; we can trus' his good sense, our son. but, mélanie, he muz' have been sick, away from the front, to make that courtship."

"i do not know. everything happens terribly fast these days. i hope you'll hear all about that to-morrow."

castanado playfully lifted a finger: "mélanie, how is that, you pass that poss-office, when it is up-town, while you--?" the question hung unfinished--maybe because mélanie turned so red, maybe because the door-bell rang again.

enlivened by the high art they had been enjoying and by the fresh night air, a full half-dozen came in: m. and mme. de l'isle, whom the others had chanced upon as they left the theatre; dubroca and his wife; mme. alexandre; and finally beloiseau. "mélanie!" was the cry of each of these as he or she turned from saluting madame; this was one of madame's largest joys; to get early report from larger or smaller fractions of the coterie, on the good things they had seen or heard, from which her muchness otherwise debarred her. the de l'isles, however, were not such a matter of course as the others, and mme. de l'isle, as she greeted mme. castanado, said, in an atmosphere that trembled with its load of mingled french and english:

"we got something to show you!"

in the same atmosphere--"and how got you away from yo' patient?" mme. alexandre asked her daughter as they embraced a second time.

"i tore myself," said mélanie, while castanado, to all the rest, was saying:

"and such great news as mél'----"

but a sharp glance from mélanie checked him. "such great news as we have receive'! our son is bethroath'!--to a good, dizcreet, beautiful french girl; which he foun', in a cellar at rheims!" when a drum-fire of questions fell on him he grew reticent and answered quietly: "we have only that by firz' letter. full particular' pretty soon, perchanze to-morrow."

"then to-morrow we'll come hear ab-out it," beloiseau said, "and tell ab-out the movie. mme. de l'isle she's also got fine news, what she cann' tell biffo' biccause"--he waved to mme. de l'isle to say why, but her husband spoke for her.

"biccause," he said, "'tis all in a pigture, war pigture, on a new york sunday paper, and of co'se we coul'n' stop under street lamp for that; and with yo' permission"--to mme. castanado--"we'll show that firz' of all to scipion."

beloiseau put on glasses and looked. "'general joffre--'" he began to read.

"no, no! not that! this one, where you know the général only by the back of his head."

"ah--ah, yes; 'two aviateur' riceiving from general joffre'--my god! de l'isle--my god! madame,"--scipion pounded his breast with the paper--"they are yo' son and mine!"

the company rushed to his elbows. "my faith! castanado, there are their name'! and 'for destrugtion of their eighteenth enemy aeroplane, under circumstance' calling for exceptional coolnezz and intrepid-ity!'"

there was great and general rejoicing and some quite pardonable boasting, under cover of which mélanie and her mother slipped out by the inside way, without mention of the young dubroca, his prisoners, sickness, or letter, except to his father and mother, who told of him more openly when the alexandres were safely gone. that brought fresh gladness and praise, a fair share of which was for mélanie.

so presently the remaining company vanished, leaving mme. castanado free to embrace her kneeling husband and boast again the power of prayer.