When he solemnly reached this decision I think that more than one angel wept and at the same time wanted to shake him. And behind these two whom he would meet in Paris, loomed the forbidding faces of Billiter and Vandermeer. He shivered as at contact with something unclean. He had chosen these men as ministers of evil. He had taken them into his crazy confidence. With their tongues in their cheeks, these rogues had exploited him. He remembered loathsome scenarios of evil dramas they had submitted. Thank Heaven for the pedantic fastidiousness that had rejected them! Billiter, Vandermeer, Huckaby—the only three of all men living who knew the miserable secret of his recent life! In a rocky wilderness he could have raced with wild gestures like the leper, shouting “Unclean! Unclean!” But Paris is not a rocky wilderness, and the semi-extinct quadruped in the shafts of the modern Paris fiacre conveys no idea of racing. Yet while his soul cried this word of horror, the child’s kiss lingered as a sign and a consecration. The first thing to do was to set himself right with Huckaby. Companionship with the man on the recent basis was impossible. He made known his arrival, and an hour afterwards, having bathed and breakfasted, he sat with Huckaby in the pleasant courtyard of the hotel. Huckaby, neat and trim and clear-eyed, clad in well-fitting blue serge, gave him the news of the party. Mrs. Fontaine had introduced him to some charming French people whose hospitality he had ventured to accept. She was well and full of plans for little festas for the remainder of their stay in Paris. Lady Louisa had found a cavalier, an elderly French marquis of deep gastronomic knowledge. “Lady Louisa,” said he with a sigh of relief and a sly glance at Quixtus, “is a charming lady, but not a highly intellectual companion.” “Do you really crave highly intellectual companions, Huckaby?” asked Quixtus. Huckaby bit his lip. “Do you remember our last conversation?” he said at last. “I remember,” said Quixtus. “I asked you for a chance. You promised. I was in earnest.” “I wasn’t,” said Quixtus. Huckaby started and gripped the arm of his chair. He was about to protest when Quixtus checked him. “I want you to know,” said he, “that great changes have taken place since then. I left Paris in ill-health, I return sound. I should like you to grasp the deep significance underlying those few words. I will repeat them.” He did so. Huckaby looked hard at his patron, who stood the scrutiny with a grave smile. “I think I understand,” he replied slowly. “Then Billiter and Vandermeer?” “Billiter and Vandermeer I put out of my life for ever; but I shall see they are kept from want.” “They can’t be kept from wanting more than you give them,” said Huckaby, whose brain worked swiftly and foresaw blackmail. “You must impose conditions.” “I never thought of that,” said Quixtus. “Set a thief to catch a thief,” said the other bitterly; “I’m telling you for your own good.”