"Marcel," the hostess cried in French, "go!"

"I will go with you," Mme. Alexandra proposed, "she will never come
without me."

"Tis but a step," said Mme. De l'Isle, "the three of us will go
together." They went.

Those who waited talked on of their city's true stories. The vastest
and most monstrous war in human history was smoking and roaring just
across the Atlantic, and in it they had racial, national, personal
interests; but for the moment they left all that aside. "One troub',"
Dubroca said, "'tis that all those three stone'--and all I can
rim-ember--even that story of M'sieu' Smith about the fall of the
city--1862--they all got in them _somewhere_, alas! the nigger. The
_publique_ they are not any longer pretty easy to fascinate on that
subjec'."

"Ho!" Beloiseau rejoined, "_au contraire_, he's an advantage! If only
you keep him for the back-_ground_; biccause in the mind of
every-_body_ tha'z where he is, and that way he has the advantage to
ril-ate those storie' together and----"

Mademoiselle came. Her arrival, reception, installation near the
hostess and opposite Chester are good enough untold. If elsewhere in
that wide city a like number ever settled down to listen to an untamed
writer's manuscript in as sweet content with one another _their_ story
ought to be printed. "Well," Mme. Castanado chanted, "commence." And
Chester read: