“Célandine,” said he, gravely, “every one of us has a treasure somewhere hidden up in the heart. What is it that you love better than everything else in the world?” The dark face, tanned by many a year of sun, yet comely still, saddened and softened while he spoke, the black eyes grew deeper and deeper as they seemed to look dreamily into the past. After a pause she drew a sorrowful sigh, and answered, “Mademoiselle!” “Good,” replied the Abbé. “You are bound on an errand now for which Mademoiselle will be grateful to you till her dying day.” She looked curiously in his face. “Cerise is dear to me as my own,” said she. “How can I do more for her to-day than yesterday, and to-morrow, and every day of my life?” He answered by another question. “Would you like to see your darling a Princess of France?” The Quadroon’s eyes glistened and filled with tears. “I would lay down my life for the child,” was all she said in reply. But he had got her malleable now, and he knew it. Those tear-drops showed him she was at the exact temperature for fusion. A little less, she would have remained too cold and hard. A little more, and over-excitement would have produced irritation, anger, defiance: then the whole process must have been begun again. It was a good time to secure her confederacy, and let her see a vague shadowy outline of his plans. In a few short sentences, but glowing and eloquent, because of the tropical nature to which they were addressed, Malletort sketched out the noble destiny he had in view for her mistress, and the consequent elevation of Cerise to the rank of royalty. He impressed on his listener the necessity of implicit, unquestioning obedience to his commands. Above all, of unbroken silence and unvaried caution till their point was gained. “As in your own beautiful island,” said the Abbé, soaring for the occasion to the metaphorical; “if you would pass by night through its luxuriant jungles, you must keep the star that guides you steadily in view, nor lose sight of it for an instant; so in the path I shall indicate, never forget, however distant and impracticable it may seem, the object to which our efforts are directed. In either case, if your attention wanders for a moment, in that moment your feet stray from the path; you stumble amongst the tangled creepers—you pierce yourself with the cruel cactus—you tread on some venomous reptile that turns and stings you to the bone; nay, you may topple headlong down a precipice into the deep, dark, silent waters of the lagoon. Once there, I tell you fairly, you might wait for a long while before the Marquise, or Mademoiselle, or myself would wet a finger to pull you out!” Thus urging on his listener the importance of her task, now in plain direct terms, now in the figurative language of parables, their drive seemed to have lasted but a few minutes, when it was brought to an abrupt termination by the stoppage of the coach before Signor Bartoletti’s residence.