Where it was they never told a philistine.  The elect they informed under the voice, as one might betray a bird’s nest.  It was but a step from the crumbling Hotel St. Louis, and but another or so from the spires of St. Louis Cathedral.

In it, at a round table, the joy-riders had passed the evening of their holiday.  As the cathedral clock struck nine they rose to part.  At the board Chester had sat next the same joy-mate allowed him all day in the car.  But with how reduced a share of her attention!  Half of his own he had had to give, at his other elbow, to her aunt Yvonne; half of Aline’s had gone to Dubroca.  The other half into half of his was but half a half and that had to be halved by a quarter coming from the two nearest across the table, one of whom was Mlle. Corinne, whose queries always required thought.

“Mr. Chezter,” she said, when the purchase of an evening paper had made the great over-seas strife the general theme, “can you egsplain me why they don’ stop that war, when ‘tis calculate’ to projuce so much hard feeling?”

Explaining as best he could without previous research, Chester had turned again to Mlle. Yvonne to let her finish telling—­inspire’d by an incoming course of the menu—­of those happy childhood days when she and her sister and the unfortunate gentleman from whom they had bought Aline’s manuscript went crayfishing in Elysian Fields street canal, always taking the dolls along, “so not to leave them lonesome”; how the dolls had visibly enjoyed the capture of each crayfish; and how she and Corinne and the dolls would delight in the same sport to-day, but, alas! “that can-al was fil’ op! and tha’z another thing calculate’ to projuce hard feeling.”

Through such riddles and reminiscences and his replies thereto persistently ran Chester’s uneasy question to himself:  Why had Aline told him that story of unnamable trouble which had goaded her to seek the cloister?  Why if not to warn him away from a sentiment which was growing in him like a balloon and straining his heart-strings to hold it to its proper moorings?

Now the two cars let out their passengers at the De l’Isle gates and at the door of the Castanados.  Madame of the latter name, with her spouse heaving under one arm and Chester under the other, while Mme. Alexandre pushed behind, was lifted to her parlor.  Returning to the street, Chester found the motors gone, MM.  De l’Isle and Beloiseau gone with them, and only the two Dubrocas, the three Chapdelaines, and Cupid awaiting him.

And now, with Cupid leading, and sleeping as he led, and with a Dubroca beside each aunt, and Aline and Chester following, this remnant of the company approached the Conti Street corner, on the way to the Chapdelaine home.  At the turn——­

“Mademoiselle,” Chester asked in a desperation too much like hers before the arch-bishop, “do you notice that, as the old hymn says, we are treading where the saints have trod? Your saints?”