"Monsieur, if you will pardon. I arouse myself at ze daylight; I rely upon Mme. Flamand that ze Englishman who is dead had left one behind; I search everywhere. Zen I make inquiry of ze mother of ze two demoiselles who have just gone. She was much insulted; she make ze bad face. She say with much indignation: 'Monsieur, since I was a baby ze water has not touched my body.' At ze supreme moment, when all hope was gone, I discover near ze house of ze same madame this grand arrangement. Immediately I am on fire, and say to myself, 'Baeader, all is not lost. Even if zare was still ze bath of ze Englishman, it would not compare.' In ze quickness of an eye I bring a saw, and ze demoiselles are on zare knees making ze arrangement, one part big, one small. I say to myself, 'Baeader, monsieur is an artist, and of enthusiasm, and will appreciate zis utensile agreable of ze fisherman.' If monsieur will consider, it is, of course, not ze grand bain of Paris, but it is simple, and quite of ze people." * * * * * Some two months later, the governor and I happened to be strolling through the flower-market of the Madeleine. He had been selecting plants for the windows of his apartment, and needed a reliable man to arrange them in suitable boxes. "That fellow Baeader lives down here somewhere; perhaps he might know of some one," he said, consulting his notebook. "Yes; No. 21 Rue Chambord. Let us look him up." In five minutes we stood before a small, two-story house, with its door and wide basement-window protected by an awning. Beneath this, upon low shelves, was arranged a collection of wicker baskets, containing the several varieties of oysters from Normandy and Brittany coasts greatly beloved by Parisian epicures of Paris. On the top of each lid lay a tin sign bearing the name of the exact locality from which each toothsome bivalve was supposed to be shipped. These signs were all of one size. The governor is a great lover of oysters, especially his own Chesapeakes, and his eye ran rapidly over the tempting exhibit as he read aloud, perhaps, unconsciously, to himself, the several labels: "Dinard, Parame, Dieppe petite, Cancale speciale." Then a new light seemed to break in upon him. "Dieppe petite, Cancale speciale,"--here his face was a study,--"why, that's what Baeader always called Cancale. By thunder! I believe that's where that fellow got his names. I don't believe the rascal was ever in Normandy in his life until I took him. Here, landlord!" A small shop-keeper, wearing an apron, ran out smiling, uncovering the baskets as he approached. "Do you happen to know a courier by the name of Baeader?" "Never as courier, messieurs--always as commissionaire; he sells wood and charcoal to ze hotels. See! zare is his sign." "Where does he live?" "Upstairs." THE LADY OF LUCERNE I