"Vell, Meestair," she resumed, "my 'usban' 'e go out to ze restaurant vere ze Frenchmens zey go play cards. Zen my cousin, M. Andrè Besnard, 'e come to call. My 'usban' 'e not zere, but I say, sit down; perhaps Argot 'e come in. My cousin 'e live in Chicago; 'e never seen my 'usban'; 'e not know 'e jealous. So 'e stay, ana 'e stay, an ve talks of France, ven ve vas chil'ren, and I forgets ze time, till I 'ears ze bell vat my 'usban' 'e ring, ana I looks at ze clocks an I see it say eleven. Zen I frightened. I know Argot dreadful angry if 'e fin' a man so late vis me. So I say, go avay, quick; my 'usban' 'e jealous; 'e no believe you my cousin. Go up ze stairs an' 'ide on ze next floor. Ven my 'usban' 'e come in, I shut ze kitchen door, and zen you can come down and go out. All vould 'ave been vell if 'e done zis, but zat imbecile 'e peeped over ze bannisters ven my 'usban' come in. But my 'usban' not quite sure 'e see somebody, so 'e say nossing, but ven I shut ze kitchen door 'e sit near it an' listen, and in a few minutes I 'ears creek, creek, an' 'e 'ears it, too; an' 'e jumps up, and I jumps up, for I afraid 'e kill my cousin; 'e look so angry. An' I puts my arms quite around 'im an' 'e fights, but I hold on, an' 'e falls vis me, an' so I got my bruises; but I no care, for I 'ears ze front door slam, so I knows Andrè is safe. In a minute my 'usban' he up and rushes out, an' me too; but ven I see Andrè is gone, I come back, but Argot 'e not come back." "Your husband did not come back, you say?" "No; 'e stay looking for Andrè----" "How long was it before he came in again?" "Ah! I not know," she exclaimed, impatiently, "'alf an hour, vone hour; me get tired an' I go to bed. Ven Argot 'e come in 'e terribly angry; 'e storm; 'e rage; 'e say, zat vas your lover; I say, no; zat vas nobody I knows. But hélas, I am unfortunate, for 'e find Andrè's card vat 'e left, for Andrè quite ze gentleman; zen, I sink, 'e have a fit; 'e swear 'e kill Andrè. But 'e not know vere Andrè is, because zere is no address on ze cards, but I know vere 'e is, for Andrè 'e told me. So ze next mornin' I writes to my cousin an' tell 'im my 'usban' 'e come for to kill 'im. But Argot 'e go out every day to try an' fin' 'im. And 'e not fin' im," she wound up, triumphantly, "because a friend of mine she tell me zat Andrè 'ave left New York an' 'ave gone back to Chicago." "Did your cousin look much like the corpse?" "Ah, but not at all. My cousin 'e little man vid no beard, for 'e is a vaitor." "And you are sure your husband did not know him by sight." "But certain," she asserted, vehemently. "And you have no idea how your husband got hold of his hat?" "No, Meestair, for I t'ought zat Andrè 'e took 'is 'at. An' Argot 'e say nossing about it till vone day----" "What day?" I interrupted, again.