tradition takes up the tale--were never seen afterward.

Capitaine Lemaitre was not among the killed or wounded, but he was among
the missing.




CHAPTER IV.


THREE FRIENDS.

The roundest and happiest-looking priest in the city of New Orleans was
a little man fondly known among his people as Père Jerome. He was a
Creole and a member of one of the city's leading families. His dwelling
was a little frame cottage, standing on high pillars just inside a tall,
close fence, and reached by a narrow out-door stair from the green
batten gate. It was well surrounded by crape myrtles, and communicated
behind by a descending stair and a plank-walk with the rear entrance of
the chapel over whose worshippers he daily spread his hands in
benediction. The name of the street--ah! there is where light is
wanting. Save the Cathedral and the Ursulines, there is very little of
record concerning churches at that time, though they were springing up
here and there. All there is certainty of is that Père Jerome's frame
chapel was some little new-born "down-town" thing, that may have
survived the passage of years, or may have escaped "Paxton's Directory"
"so as by fire." His parlor was dingy and carpetless; one could smell
distinctly there the vow of poverty. His bed-chamber was bare and clean,
and the bed in it narrow and hard; but between the two was a dining-room