"I should advise that we gather together as many such old narratives as
we can find, especially such as can be related to one another----"

"They need not be ril-ated!" cried Dubroca. "_We_ are not ril-ated,
and yet see! Ril-ated? where you are goin' to find them, ril-ated?"

"Royal Street!" Scipion retorted. "Royal Street is pave' with old
narration'!"

"Already," said Castanado, "we chanze to have three or four.
Mademoiselle has that story of her _grand'mère_, and Mr. Chezter he
has--sir, you'll not care if I tell that?--Mr. Chezter has _the sequal
to that_, and written by his uncle!"

"Yes," Chester put in, "but Ovide Landry finds it was printed years
ago."

"Proof!" proclaimed Mme. Alexandre, "proof that 'tis good to print
ag-ain! The people that read that before, they are mozely dead."

"At the same time," Chester responded, rising and addressing the chair,
his hostess, "because that is a sequel to the _grand'-mère's_ story,
and because _this_--this West Indian episode--is not a sequel and has
no sequel, and particularly because we ought to let mademoiselle be
first to judge whether my uncle's _memorandum_ is fit company for her
two stories, I propose, I say, that before we read this West Indian
thing we read my uncle's _memorandum_, and that we send and beg her to
come and hear it with us. It's in my pocket."

Patter, patter, patter, went a dozen hands.