"I have only the uze of it with them. My _grandpère_ he made those
gate', for the father of Mme. De l'Isle, same year he made those great
openwork gate' of Hotel St. Louis. You speak of episode'! One summer,
renovating that hotel, they paint' those gate'--of iron openwork--in
imitation--_mon Dieu_!--of marbl'! _Ciel_! the tragedy of _that_!
Yes, they live over me; in the whole square, both side' the street,
last remaining of the 'igh society."

When Mme. Alexandre finally rose to go, and had kissed the upturned
brow of her hostess, she went by an inner door and rear balcony. And
when Chester and Beloiseau began to take leave their host said to
Chester:

"You dine with M. De l'Isle Tuesday. Well, if you'll come again here
the next evening we'll attend to--that business."

"Wouldn't that be losing time? I can just as well come sooner."

"No," said madame, "better that Wednesday."

Chester was nettled, but he recovered when the ironworker walked with
him around into Bienville Street and at his _pension_ door lamented the
pathetic decay of the useful arts and of artistic taste, since the
advent of castings and machinery. The pair took such liking for each
other's tenets of beauty, morals, art, and life that Chester walked
back to the De l'Isle gates, and their parting at last was at the
corner half-way between their two domiciles.

Meanwhile madame was saying to her spouse, "Aha! you see? The power of