"Mr. Ritchie has returned it to your sister, a service which puts him heavily in our debt," said Monsieur de St. Gre. "Now, sir," he added to me, rising, "you have had a tiresome day. I will show you to your room, and in the morning we will begin our--investigations." He clapped his hands, the silent mulatto appeared with a new candle, and I followed my host down the gallery to a room which he flung open at the far end. A great four-poster bedstead was in one corner, and a polished mahogany dresser in the other. "We have saved some of our family furniture from the fire, Mr. Ritchie," said Monsieur de St. Gre; "that bed was brought from Paris by my father forty years ago. I hope you will rest well." He set the candle on the table, and as he bowed there was a trace of an enigmatical smile about his mouth. How much he knew of Auguste's transaction I could not fathom, but the matter and the scarcely creditable part I had played in it kept me awake far into the night. I was just falling into a troubled sleep when a footstep on the gallery startled me back to consciousness. It was followed by a light tap on the door. "Monsieur Reetchie," said a voice. It was Monsieur Auguste. He was not an imposing figure in his nightrail, and by the light of the carefully shaded candle he held in his hand I saw that he had hitherto deceived me in the matter of his calves. He stood peering at me as I lay under the mosquito bar. "How is it I can thank you, Monsieur!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "By saying nothing, Monsieur," I answered. "You are noble, you are generous, and--and one day I will give you the money back," he added with a burst of magniloquence. "You have behave very well, Monsieur, and I mek you my friend. Behol' Auguste de St. Gre, entirely at your service, Monsieur." He made a sweeping bow that might have been impressive save for the nightrail, and sought my hand, which he grasped in a fold of the mosquito bar. "I am overcome, Monsieur," I said. "Monsieur Reetchie, you are my friend, my intimate" (he put an aspirate on the word). "I go to tell you one leetle secret. I find that I can repose confidence in you. My father does not understan' me, you saw, Monsieur, he does not appreciate--that is the Engleesh. Mon Dieu, you saw it this night. I, who spik to you, am made for a courtier, a noble. I have the gift. La Louisiane--she is not so big enough for me." He lowered his voice still further, and bent nearer to me. "Monsieur, I run away to France. My cousin the Marquis will help me. You will hear of Auguste de St. Gre at Versailles, at Trianon, at Chantilly, and peut-etre--" "It is a worthy campaign, Monsieur," I interrupted. A distant sound broke the stillness, and Auguste was near to dropping the candle on me. "Adieu, Monsieur," he whispered; "milles tonneres, I have done one extraordinaire foolish thing when I am come to this house to-night." And he disappeared, shading his candle, as he had come. CHAPTER XIV RETRIBUTION