and had hoped once to see her, but did not; but could this be she?

They disappeared within the cathedral. A sudden pang of piety moved him; he followed. Tite Poulette was already kneeling in the aisle. Zalli, still in the vestibule, was just taking her hand from the font of holy-water.

"Madame John," whispered the man

ager.

Shę curtsied.

"Madame John, that young lady is she your daughter?"

"She-she-is my daughter," said Zalli, with somewhat of alarm in her face, which the manager misinterpreted.

"I think not, Madame John." He shook his head, smiling as one too wise to be fooled.

"Yes, Monsieur, she is my daughter." "O no, Madame John, it is only makebelieve, I think."

"I swear she is, Monsieur de la Rue." "Is that possible?" pretending to waver, but convinced in his heart of hearts, by Zalli's alarm, that she was lying. "But how? Why does she not come to our ballroom with you?

Zalli, trying to get away from him, shrugged and smiled. Each to his taste, Monsieur; it pleases her not.

She was escaping, but he followed one step more. "I shall come to see you, Madame John.'

She whirled and attacked him with her eyes. "Monsieur must not give himself the trouble!" she said, the eyes at the same time saying, "Dare to come!" She turned again and knelt to her devotions. The manager dipped, crossed himself and departed.

Several weeks went by and M. de la Rue had not accepted the fierce invitation of Madame John's eyes. One or two Sunday nights she had avoided him, though fulfilling her engagement in the Salle; but by and by pay-day,-a Saturday,-came round, and though the pay was ready, she was loth to go up to Monsieur's little office.

It was an afternoon in May. Madame John came in and, with a sigh, sank into a chair. Her eyes were wet. "Did you go, dear mother? "Tite Poulette.

asked

"I could not," she answered, dropping her face in her hands. has seen me at the

Maman, he

window!"

Zalli wrung her hands.

"It is nothing, mother; do not go near him."

"But the pay, my child." "The pay matters not.'

"But he will bring it here; he wants the chance."

That was the trouble, sure enough. About this time Kristian Koppig lost his position in the German importing house where, he had fondly told his mother, he was indispensable. "Summer was coming on," the senior said, "and you see our young men are almost idle. Yes, our engagement was for a year, but ahwe could not foresee-" etc., etc., "besides," (attempting a parting flattery) "your father is a rich gentleman and you can afford to take the summer easy. If we can ever be of any service to you -etc.,

etc.

So the young Dutchman spent the afternoons at his dormer window reading and glancing down at the little casement opposite, where a small, rude shelf had lately been put out, holding a row of cigar boxes with wretched little botanical specimens in them trying to die. "Tite Poulette was their gardener; and it was odd to see,dry weather or wet,-how many waterings per day those plants could take. She never looked up from her task; but I know she performed it with that unacknowledged pleasure which all girls love and deny, that of being looked upon by noble eyes.

On this particular Saturday afternoon in May, Kristian Koppig had been witness of the distressful scene over the way. It occurred to 'Tite Poulette that such might be the case, and she stepped to the casement to shut it. As she did so, the marvelous delicacy of Kristian Koppig moved him to draw in one of his shutters. Both young heads came out at one moment, while in the same instant

Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap!” clanked the knocker on the wicket. The black eyes of the maiden and the blue over the way, from looking into each other for the first time in life, glanced down to the arched doorway upon Monsieur the manager. Then the black eyes disappeared within, and Kristian Koppig thought again, and re-opening his shutter, stood up at the win

dow prepared to become a bold spectator of what might follow.

But nothing followed.

"Trouble over there," thought the rosy Dutchman, and waited. The manager waited too, rubbing his hat and brushing his clothes with the tips of his kidded fingers. "They do not wish to see him," slowly concluded the spectator.

'Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap!" quoth the knocker, and M. de la Rue looked up around at the windows opposite and noticed the handsome young Dutchman looking at him.

"Dutch!" said the manager softly, between his teeth.

"He is staring at me," said Kristian Koppig to himself;-" but then, I am staring at him, which accounts for it."

A long pause and then another long rap

ping.

The manager stepped into the street, looked up at the closed window, returned to the knocker, and stood with it in his hand.

"They are all gone out, Monsieur," said the street-youngster.

"You lie!" said the cynosure of neighboring eyes.

"Ah?" thought Kristian Koppig; "I will go down and ask him" here his thoughts lost outline; he was only convinced that he had somewhat to say to him, and turned to go down stairs. In going he became a little vexed with himself because he could not help hurrying. He noticed, too, that his arm holding the stairrail trembled in a silly way, whereas he was perfectly calm. Precisely as he reached the street door the manager raised the knocker but the latch clicked and the wicket was drawn slightly ajar.

Inside could just be descried Madame John. The manager bowed, smiled, talked, talked on, held money in his hand, bowed, smiled, talked on, flourished the money, smiled, bowed, talked on and plainly persisted in some intention to which Madame John was steadfastly opposed.

The window above, too,-it was Kristian Koppig who noticed that,-opened a wee bit, like the shell of a terrapin. Presently the manager lifted his foot and put forward an arm, as though he would enter the gate by pushing, but as quick as gunpowder it clapped in his face!

As the panting mother re-entered the room, "See, Maman," said "Tite Poulette, peeping at the window, "the young gentleman from over the way has crossed!"

"Holy Mary bless him!" said the mother.

"I will go over," thought Kristian Koppig, "and ask him kindly if he is not making a mistake."

"What are they doing, dear?" asked the mother, with clasped hands.

"They are talking; the young man is tranquil, but 'Sieur de la Rue is very angry," whispered the daughter; and just then-pang! came a sharp, keen sound rattling up the walls on either side of the narrow way, and “Aha!" and laughter and clapping of female hands from two or three windows.

"Oh! what a slap !" cried the girl, half in fright, half in glee, jerking herself back from the casement simultaneously with the report. But the "ahas," and laughter, and clapping of feminine hands, which still continued, came from another cause. "Tite Poulette's rapid action had struck the slender cord that held up an end of her hanging garden, and the whole rank of cigar-boxes slid from their place, turned gracefully over as they shot through the air, and emptied themselves plump upon the head of the slapped manager. less, dirty, pale as whitewash, he gasped a threat to be heard from again, and, getting round the corner as quick as he could walk, left Kristian Koppig, standing motionless, the most astonished man in that street.

Breath

"Kristian Koppig, Kristian Koppig," said Great-heart to himself, slowly dragging up stairs, "what a mischief you have done. One poor woman certainly to be robbed of her bitter wages, and anotherso lovely!-put to the burning shame of being the subject of a street brawl! What will this silly neighborhood say? the gentleman a heart as well as a hand?' 'Is it jealousy?'" There he paused, afraid himself to answer the supposed query; and then-"Oh! Kristian Koppig, you have been such a dunce!" apologize to them.

'Has

"And I cannot Who in this street

66

He went to his room, which was already growing dark, shut his window, lighted his big Dutch lamp, and sat down to write. Something must be done," said he aloud, taking up his pen; "I will be calm and cool; I will be distant and brief; but-I shall have to be kind or I may offend. Ah! I shall have to write in French; I forgot that; I write it so poorly, dunce that I am, when all my brothers and sisters speak it so well. He got out his French dictionary. Two hours slipped by. He made a new pen, washed and refilled his inkstand, mended his " abominable" chair, and after two hours more made another attempt, and another failure. 'My head aches," said he, and lay down on his couch, the better to frame his phrases.

He was awakened by the Sabbath sunlight. The bells of the Cathedral and the Ursulines' chapel were ringing for high mass, and a mocking-bird, perching on a chimney-top above Madame John's rooms, was carolling, whistling, mewing, chirping, screaming and trilling with the ecstasy of a whole May in his throat. "O! sleepy Kristian Koppig," was the young man's first thought, such a dunce!"

66

66

Madame John and daughter did not go to mass. The morning wore away, and their casement remained closed. They are offended," said Kristian Koppig, leaving the house, and wandering up to Christ Church.

"No, possibly they are not," he said, returning and finding the shutters thrown back.

By a sad accident, which mortified him extremely, he happened to see, late in the afternoon, hardly conscious that he was looking across the street, that Madame John was-dressing. Could it be that she was going to the Salle de Condé? He rushed to his table, and began to write.

He had guessed aright. The wages were too precious to be lost. The manager had written her a note. He begged to assure

her that he was a gentleman of the clearest cut. If he had made a mistake the previous afternoon, he was glad no unfortunate result had followed except his having been assaulted by a ruffian; that the Danse du Shawl was promised in his advertisement, and he hoped Madame John (whose wages were in hand waiting for her) would not fail to assist as usual. Lastly, and delicately put, he expressed his conviction that Mademoiselle was wise and discreet in declining to entertain gentlemen at her home.

66

So, against much beseeching on the part of "Tite Poulette, Madame John was going to the ball-room. Maybe I can discover what 'Sieur de la Rue is planning against Monsieur over the way," she said, knowing certainly the slap would not be forgiven; and the daughter, though tremblingly, at once withdrew her objections.

The heavy young Dutchman, now thoroughly electrified, was writing like mad. He wrote and tore up, wrote and tore up, lighted his lamp, started again, and at last signed his name. A letter by a Dutchman in French!-what can be made of it in English? We will see.

"MADAME AND MADEMOISELLE :

A stranger, seeking not to be acquainted, but seeing and admiring all days the goodness and high honor, begs to be pardoned of them for the mistakes, alas! of yesterday, and to make reparation and satisfaction in destroying the ornaments of the window, as well as the loss of compensation from Monsieur the manager, with the enclosed bill of the Banque de la Louisiane for fifty dollars ($50). And, hoping they will seeing what he is meaning, remains respectfully,

"KRISTIAN KOPPIG. "P.S.-Madame must not go to the ball.” He must bear the missive himself. He must speak in French. What should the words be. A moment of study-he has it, and is off down the long three-story stairway. At the same moment Madame John stepped from the wicket, and glided off to the Salle de Condé, a trifle late.

"I shall see Madame John, of course," thought the young man, crushing a hope, and rattled the knocker. 'Tite Poulette sprang up from praying for her mother's safety. "What has she forgotten?" she asked herself, and hastened down. The wicket opened. The two innocents were stunned.

"Aw-aw-" said the pretty Dutchman,

“aw—," blurted out something in virgin Dutch, .. handed her the letter, and hurried down street.

"Alas! what have I done?" said the poor girl, bending over her candle, and bursting into tears that fell on the unopened letter. "And what shall I do? It may be wrong to open it—and worse not to." Like her sex, she took the benefit of the doubt, and intensified her perplexity and misery by reading and misconstruing the all but unintelligible contents. What then? Not only sobs and sighs, but moaning and beating of little fists together, and outcries of soul-felt agony stifled against the bedside, and temples pressed into knitted palms, because of one who "sought not to be acquainted," but offered moneymoney!-in pity to a poor-shame on her for saying that!-a poor nigresse.

And now our self-confessed dolt turned back from a half hour's walk, concluding there might be an answer to his note. "Surely Madame John will appear this time." He knocked. The shutter stirred above, and something white came fluttering wildly down like a shot dove. It was his own letter, containing the fifty dollar. bill. He bounded to the wicket, and softly but eagerly knocked again.

66

Madame John?" said he; but the window closed, and he heard a step, the same step, on the stair. Step, step, every step one step deeper into his heart. "Tite Poulette came to the closed door. "What will you?" said the voice within. "I-I-don't wish to see you. I wish to see Madame John."

"I must pray Monsieur to go away. My mother is at the Salle de Condé."

At the ball!" Kristian Koppig strayed off, repeating the words for want of definite thought. All at once it occurred to him that at the ball he could make Madame John's acquaintance with impunity. 'Was it courting sin to go?' By no means; he should, most likely, save a woman from trouble, and help the poor in their dis

tress.

Behold Kristian Koppig standing on the floor of the Salle de Condé. A large hall, a blaze of lamps, a bewildering flutter of fans and floating robes, strains of music, columns of gay promenaders, a long row of turbaned mothers lining either wall, gentlemen of the portlier sort filling the recesses of the windows, whirling waltzers

gliding here and there-smiles and grace, smiles and grace; all fair, orderly, elegant, bewitching. A young Creole's laugh mayhap a little loud, and-truly there were many sword canes. But neither grace nor foulness satisfied the eye of the zealous young Dutchman.

Suddenly a muffled woman passed him, leaning on a gentleman's arm. It looked like-it must be, Madame John. Speak quick, Kristian Koppig; do not stop to notice the man!

"Madame John"-bowing-"I am your neighbor, Kristian Koppig.

Madame John bowes low, and smilesa ball-room smile, but is frightened, and her escort,-the manager, slips away.

"Ah! Monsieur," she whispers excitedly, "you will be killed if you stay here a moment. Are you armed? No. Take this." She tried to slip a dirk into his hands, but he would not have it.

"Oh, my dear young man, go! Go quickly!" she plead, glancing furtively down the hall.

"I wish you not to dance," said the young man.

"I have danced already; I am going home. Come; be quick! we will go together." She thrust her arm through his, and they hastened into the street. When a square had been passed there came a sound of men running behind them.

"Run, Monsieur, run!" she cried, trying to drag him; but Monsieur Dutchman would not.

"Run, Monsieur! Oh, my God! it is 'Sieur

"That for yesterday!" cried the manager, striking fiercely with his cane. Kristian Koppig's fist rolled him in the dirt.

That for 'Tite Poulette!" cried another man, dealing the Dutchman a terrible blow from behind.

"And that for me!" hissed a third, thrusting at him with something bright.

That for yesterday!" screamed the manager, bounding like a tiger; "That!" "THAT!" "Ha!"

Then Kristian Koppig knew that he was stabbed.

"That!" and "That!" and "That!" and the poor Dutchman struck wildly here and there, grasped the air, shut his eyes, staggered, reeled, fell, rose half up, fell again for good, and they were kicking him and jumping on him. All at once they scampered. Zalli had found the night

watch.