"A handsome fellow, all the same," nodded the little lady, approvingly. Hector thought so too. The conversation again turned upon Laballière, and so continued till they reached the side door of the cathedral, where the young man left his two companions. In the evening Laballière called upon Suzanne. Maman Chavan closed the front door carefully after he entered the small parlor, and opened the side one that looked into the privacy of the garden. Then she lighted the lamp and retired, just as Suzanne entered. The girl bowed a little stiffly, if it may be said that she did anything stiffly. "Monsieur Laballière." That was all she said. "Mademoiselle St. Denys Godolph," and that was all he said. But ceremony did not sit easily upon him. "Mademoiselle," he began, as soon as seated, "I am here as the bearer of a message from your mother. You must understand that otherwise I would not be here." "I do understan', sir, that you an' maman have become very warm frien's during my absence," she returned, in measured, conventional tones. "It pleases me immensely to hear that from you," he responded, warmly; "to believe that Madame St. Denys Godolph is my friend." Suzanne coughed more affectedly than was quite nice, and patted her glossy braids. "The message, if you please, Mr. Laballière." "To be sure," pulling himself together from the momentary abstraction into which he had fallen in contemplating her. "Well, it's just this; your mother, you must know, has been good enough to sell me a fine bit of land--a deep strip along the bayou"-- "Impossible! _Mais_, w'at sorcery did you use to obtain such a thing of my mother, Mr. Laballière? Lan' that has been in the St. Denys Godolph family since time untole!" "No sorcery whatever, Mademoiselle, only an appeal to your mother's intelligence and common sense; and she is well supplied with both. She wishes me to say, further, that she desires your presence very urgently and your immediate return home." "My mother is unduly impatient, surely," replied Suzanne, with chilling politeness. "May I ask, mademoiselle," he broke in, with an abruptness that was startling, "the name of the man with whom you were walking this afternoon?" She looked at him with unaffected astonishment, and told him: "I hardly understan' yo' question. That gentleman is Mr. Hector Santien, of one of the firs' families of Natchitoches; a warm ole frien' an' far distant relative of mine." "Oh, that's his name, is it, Hector Santien? Well, please don't walk on the New Orleans streets again with Mr. Hector Santien." "Yo' remarks would be insulting if they were not so highly amusing, Mr. Laballière."