Around the frugal board Colonel Joe enters into the family spirit. He insists on having Raoul come to him for a conference about his portraiture in marble. "I have just finished a bust of Madame de Santos, the beautiful Mexican lady," remarks Raoul. Colonel Joe bounds from his chair. "By hokey, young man, you are a bonanza. Do you know her well?" he eagerly asks. The sculptor tells how he saved her from the bedlam horrors of the Orangery. The miner whistles. "Well, you control the stock, I should say. Now, she's the very woman, Gwin, and Erlanger, and old Slidell, and a whole lot told me about. I want you to take me up there," he says. "I will see Madame de Santos to-morrow," remarks Raoul, diplomatically. "Tell her I'm a friend of her Southern friends. They're scattered now. Most of them busted," says Wood calmly. "I must see her. See here, padre; we'll do the thing in style. You go and call with me, and keep me straight." The priest assents. In gayest mood the Colonel bids Raoul come to him for this most fashionable call. Claiming the padre for breakfast and the ride of the morrow, he rattles off to his rooms, leaving an astounded circle. Golden claims to their friendly gratitude bound them together. Colonel Joe has the "dejeuner a deux" in his rooms. He says, "More homelike, padre, you know," ushering the priest to the table. Under the influence of Chablis, the Californians become intimate. Raoul arrives with news that Madame de Santos will be pleased to have the gentlemen call next day in the afternoon. After an arrangement about the bust, the horses, champing before the doors, bear the elders to the Bois, now beginning to abandon its battle-field appearance. Long is their conference on that ride. PŠre Fran‡ois is thoughtful, as he spends his evening hour at dominoes with Aristide Dauvray. His eyes stray to fair Louise, busied with her needle. At last, he has a man of the world to lean on, in tracing up this child's parentage. Raoul and Armand are deep in schemes to enrich Joe's queer collection, the nucleus of that "bachelor ranch," "Ophir Villa." In all the bravery of diamonds and goldsmithing the Westerner descends from his carriage, at the doors of Madame de Santos, next day. Pale-faced, aristocratic PŠre Fran‡ois is a foil to the "occidental king." Mind and matter. Waiting for the Donna, the gentlemen admire her salon. Pictures, objets d'art, dainty bibelots, show the elegance of a queen of the "monde." "Beats a steamboat," murmurs Colonel Joe, as the goddess enters the domain. There is every grace in her manner. She inquires as to mutual friends of the "Southern set." Her praises of Raoul are justified in the beautiful bust, a creation of loveliness, on its Algerian onyx pedestal. Colonel Joe Woods is enchanted. He wonders if he has ever seen this classic face before. "I drive in the Bois," says madame, with an arch glance.