The Press., 1896-08-13

l was the only soul she knew Who dW0lt
 there. He had had no share in obtain
 ing for her the position she had secured
 with one of the leading dry goods firms.
 Yet it was to him she addressed herself
 when her arrangements to leave homo
 were completed.
 He did not wait for her train to reach
 the city, but crossed the river and met
 her at Gretna. The first thing he did
 was to kiss her, as he had done eight years before when he left Natchitoches parish. An hour later he would no more
 have thought of offering to kiss Suzanne
 than he would have rendered an en-
 brace to the empress of China. For by
 that time he had realized that she was no longer 12 nor he 24.
 She could hardly believe the man who
 met her to be the Hector of old. His
 black hair was dashed with gray on the temples. He WOro short, parted beard and small mustache that curled From the crown of his glossy silk hat down to his trimly gaitered feet, his attire was faultless. Suzanne knew her Natchi- toohes, and she had been to Shreveport, and even penetrated as far as Marshall, Tex, but in all her travels she had never met man to equal Hector in the elegance of his mien.
 They entered a cab, and seemed to drive for an interminable time through the streets, mostly over cobblestones that rendered conversation difficult. Nevertheless he talked necessarily, while she peered from tho windows to catch what glimpses she could through the night of that New Orleans of which she had heard so much. The sounds were bewildering So were the lights that were uneven, too, serving to make the patches of alternating gloom more mysterious.
 She had not thought of asking him where he was taking her. And it was only after they crossed Canal and had penetrated some distance into Royal street, that he told her. He was taking her to friend of his, the dearest little woman in town. That was Maman Chavan, who was going to board and lodge her for ridiculously small con- slderatiOn.
 Maman Chavan lived within comfort able walking distance of Canal street, on one of those narrow, intersecting streets between Royal and Chartres. Her house was tiny, single story one, with ovcrhanging gable, heavily shut tered door and windows and three wood- en steps leading down to the banquette. A small garden flanked it on one side, quite screened from outside view by a high fence, over which appeared the tops of orange trees and other luxuriant shrubbery.
 She was waiting for them-a lovable, fresh looking, white haired, blackeyed, small, fat little body, dressed all in black. She understood no English, which made no difference, for Suzanne and Hector had spoken but French to each other.
 Hector did not tarry moment longer than was needed to placo his young friend and charge in the older woman's care. Ho would not even stay to take bite of supper with them. Maman Cha van watched him as he hurried down the steps and out into the gloom. Then she said to Suzanne, "That man is an angel, 1nademoiselle, un ange du bon Dieu. y
 
 "Women, my dear Maman Chavan, you know how it is with me in regard to women. have drawn circle round my heart, so-at pretty long range, mind yOu-Rnd there is not ono who gets through it or over it or under it."
 "Blagueur, val" laughed Maman Chavan, replenishing her glass from the bottle of sauterne.
 It was Sunday morning. They were breakfasting altogether on the pleasant side gallery that led by single step down to the garden. Hector came every Sunday morning, an hour or 50 before noon, to breakfast with them. He al- ways brought bottle of sauterne, a pate, ing bit of charcuterie. Sometimes he had to wait till the two women returned from hearing mass at the cathedral He did not go to mass himself. They were both making a nOvena on that account and had even gone to the expense of burning a round dozen of candles before the good St. Joseph for his conversion. When Hector accidentally discovered the fact, he offered to pay for the candles and was distressed at not being permit ted to do so.
 Suzanne had been in the city more than month. It was already the close of February and the air was flower scent ed, moist and deliciously mild.
 "As l said, women, my dear Maman Chavan"-
 "Let us hear no more about women !" cried Suzanne impatiently. "Cher Mai | 5re! but Hector can be tiresome when he | wants Talk, talk, to say what in the | 9nd?"
 "Quite right, my cousin. When | might have been saying how charming | you are this morning. But don't think | hat haven t noticed 1t. " And he look | 9d at her with deliberation that quite | her. Sine took a letter from ner pocket and handed it to him.
 'Here, read all the nice things man. ma has to say of you and the love mes- Sages she sends to you" He accepted the several closely written sheets from her and began to look over them.
 "Ah. la bonne tante," he laughed when he came to the tender passages that referred to himself. He had pushed aside the glass of wine that he had only partly filled at the beginning of break last and that he had scarcely touched. Maman Chavan again replenished her own. She also lighted cigarette. So did Suzanne, who was learning to smoke. Hector did not smoke; he did not use tobacco in any form, he always said to those who offered him cigars.
 Suzanne rested her elbows-8n the ta- ble. adjusted the ruff1es about her wrists, puffed awkwardly at her cigarette that kept going out and hummed the "Kyrie Eleison" that she had heard So beauti- fully rendered an hour before at the cathedral. while she gazed off into the yroan depths of the garden. Maman Jhavan slipped little silver medal to- ward her, accompanying the action with pantomime that Suzanne readily un- 1erstood. She in turn secretly and adroit- froT T1c$nO