"Mon Dieu, that is a house," exclaimed Madame; "it belongs to Monsieur de Saint-Gre." "To Monsieur de Saint-Gre!" I repeated. She shot a look at me. She had bright little eyes like a bird's, that shone in the candlelight. "You know him, Monsieur?" "I heard of him in St. Louis," I answered. "You will meet him, no doubt," she continued. "He is a very fine gentleman. His grandfather was Commissary-general of the colony, and he himself is a cousin of the Marquis de Saint-Gre, who has two chateaux, a house in Paris, and is a favorite of the King." She paused, as if to let this impress itself upon me, and added archly, "Tenez, Monsieur, there is a daughter--" She stopped abruptly. I followed her glance, and my first impression--of claret-color--gave me a shock. My second confirmed it, for in the semi-darkness beyond the rays of the candle was a thin, eager face, prematurely lined, with coal-black, lustrous eyes that spoke eloquently of indulgence. In an instant I knew it to be that of the young man whom I had seen on the levee. "Monsieur Auguste?" stammered Madame. "Bon soir, Madame," he cried gayly, with a bow; "diable, they are already at it, I see, and the punch in the bowl. I will win back to-night what I have lost by a week of accursed luck." "Monsieur your father has relented, perhaps," said Madame, deferentially. "Relented!" cried the young man, "not a sou. C'est egal! I have the means here," and he tapped his pocket, "I have the means here to set me on my feet again, Madame." He spoke with a note of triumph, and Madame took a curious step towards him. "Qu'est-ce-que c'est, Monsieur Auguste?" she inquired. He drew something that glittered from his pocket and beckoned to her to follow him down the room, which she did with alacrity. "Ha, Adolphe," he cried to the young man of the puffy face, "I will have my revenge to-night. Voila!!" and he held up the shining thing, "this goes to the highest bidder, and you will agree that it is worth a pretty sum." They rose from their chairs and clustered around him at the table, Madame in their midst, staring with bent heads at the trinket which he held to the light. It was Madame's voice I heard first, in a kind of frightened cry. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur Auguste, you will not part with that!" she exclaimed. "Why not?" demanded the young man, indifferently. "It was painted by Boze, the back is solid gold, and the Jew in the Rue Toulouse will give me four hundred livres for it to-morrow morning."