"You dear!" she said, running her arm through his and giving it a little
squeeze. "That's right. Hold it tight--be careful, or it will break.
Here, William," piling the young man's arms full of delicately tinted
gauze, "this is a sunset cloud. And these," casting lengths of exquisite
tissue over the boy's shoulder, "these are the mists of the dawn,
David,--all silvery white and golden rose and jewelled blue. But--oh!
oh!--these are the loveliest of all! A pair of slippers in
orange-blossom kid, spangled with silver! Look at them! Just look,
everybody!"

Holding them in her hand she ran round the table again to throw her arms
about Philip Alston's neck the second time, like a happy, excited child.
The little white slippers went up with her arms and touched his cheek.
And then he drew them down, and clasping her slender wrists, held her
out before him and looked at her with fond, smiling eyes.

"I don't believe that the Empress Josephine has any prettier slippers
than those," he said. "I ordered the prettiest and the finest in Paris."

"Who fetched all these things?" the judge broke in, with something like
a sudden realization of the number and the value of the gifts.

"Oh, a friend of mine," responded Philip Alston, carelessly, and without
turning his head,--"a friend who has many ships constantly going and
coming between New Orleans and France. He orders anything I wish; and
when it comes to him, he sends it on to me by the first flatboat
cordelled up the river."

"What is his name?" asked the judge, with a persistence very uncommon in