"Well, I'll have to take to the woods, if there's no other way of escape," said the judge, making his greatest threat. "You dear!" she said, running her arm through his and giving it a little squeeze. "That's right. Hold it tight--be careful, or it will break. Here, William," piling the young man's arms full of delicately tinted gauze, "this is a sunset cloud. And these," casting lengths of exquisite tissue over the boy's shoulder, "these are the mists of the dawn, David,--all silvery white and golden rose and jewelled blue. But--oh! oh!--these are the loveliest of all! A pair of slippers in orange-blossom kid, spangled with silver! Look at them! Just look, everybody!" Holding them in her hand she ran round the table again to throw her arms about Philip Alston's neck the second time, like a happy, excited child. The little white slippers went up with her arms and touched his cheek. And then he drew them down, and clasping her slender wrists, held her out before him and looked at her with fond, smiling eyes. "I don't believe that the Empress Josephine has any prettier slippers than those," he said. "I ordered the prettiest and the finest in Paris." "Who fetched all these things?" the judge broke in, with something like a sudden realization of the number and the value of the gifts. "Oh, a friend of mine," responded Philip Alston, carelessly, and without turning his head,--"a friend who has many ships constantly going and coming between New Orleans and France. He orders anything I wish; and when it comes to him, he sends it on to me by the first flatboat cordelled up the river." "What is his name?" asked the judge, with a persistence very uncommon in him. Philip Alston turned now and glanced at him with an easy, almost bantering smile. "I don't like to tell you his name, because you--with a good many other honestly mistaken people--are most unjustly prejudiced against him. And then you know well enough that I am speaking of my respected and trusted friend, Monsieur Jean Lafitte."