Christmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the day
of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last
time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic
number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh,
'mon ami,' where do you go the next day? Oh, 'pardon,' I forgot, you
spend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young
Aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. So."

"Stop that, Pierre." There was fierceness in the tone. "I spend the
Christmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn't
concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you say
yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?"

"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day
after the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive!
Adieu!"

Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white
teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his
gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person.
Poor Aleck.

"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone
awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and
against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the
ne'er-do-weel!

That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carrying
with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outer
air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawn so