"I did not say you promised that," replied the other; "but I am seeking for the money you owe me. I love your daughter; you know it; she does not smile, and I must wait. But my creditors will not wait. I owe money, and come to you for what you owe me." The voice that said this was cold and stern. Suddenly, as I listened to it, it seemed familiar to me; but where I had heard it I could not remember. Raymond replied: "And suppose I had not played with you and lost? What would you have done?" "But my friends in England are so dilatory," was the evasive answer. "Still--if Mademoiselle Esther----" "Sacré!" cried Raymond, starting to his feet, and stamping on the path. Gray seemed to rise too. "You press me too far. What do I know of you, monsieur? You live here some few months--you play high--you--you----" "Ah, well, monsieur," said Gray, icily, as he paused. "My daughter, too," cried Raymond; "you use my debt to you as a means----." He stopped again in his sudden passion. "Pardon me, monsieur," said Gray, sternly, "this is only a debt of honor;" and he laid a stress on the word which drove it home. "In England we cannot enforce a debt of honor." "What do you do there when it is not paid?" "First post the guilty man, and then shoot him," was the answer. I felt inclined to start from my concealment and say that this was false. I recollected, however, just in time, that it was true. "But this is folly," pursued Gray, "and we should not quarrel. I am not going to shoot Esther's father, for example." The effect of this cordial and peaceful declaration was instantaneous. Glad apparently to drop his creditor in his friend at any price, Raymond answered kindly, and even proposed to give Gray a small sum on account of his debt, which he accepted. They then began to ascend the zigzag, and ere long their voices died away in the distance. I had remained lying-to where I was all this while, and felt glad when they left the neighborhood. I never overheard a conversation with pleasure since I read how the Rev. Dr. Follett declared that his bamboo, and not his cloth, should protect him from Mr. Eavesdrop. Once, indeed, I had thought of retiring, but put it off so long that I thought I might just as well stay out the interview. I knew Mr. Raymond by name. He was a banker, and reputed rich. He was also thought religious--for a Frenchman, even pious. He crossed himself at all the twopenny representations of the Divine agony. He never galloped past a crucifix, or calvaire, or burial-place. And yet he now showed himself a gambler, and apparently on the way to sell his daughter's hand to a man he did not know, for a gambling debt. The discovery made me feel sick. And yet I thought how many of my own parisioners, who wave their heads at the sacred name in the creed, and appear to men to worship, are as false as this man; packing away their religion like their best hat till next Sunday, when it seems as good to the next pew as ever.