'Now the devil take it all!' Then he nod and say to the Cure: 'We'll
thrash this out at Judgment Day, M'sieu'. I'll meet you there--you and
the woman that spoiled me.'

"He turn to Florian and the rest of us, and shake hands, and say: 'Take
care of Louison. Thank you. Good-bye.' Then he start towards the door,
but stumble, for he look sick. 'Give me a drink,' he say, and begin to
cough a little--a queer sort of rattle. Florian give him big drink, and
he toss it off-whiff! 'Thank you,' he say, and start again, and we see
him walk away over the hill ver' slow--an' he never come back. But every
year there come from New York a box of flowers, and every year P'tite
Louison send him a 'Merci, Charles, mille fois. Dieu to garde.' It is
so every year for twenty-five year."

"Where is he now?" asked Medallion.

Isidore shook his head, then lifted his eyes religiously. "Waiting for
Judgment Day and P'tite Louison," he answered.

"Dead!" said Medallion.

"How long?"

"Twenty year."

"But the flowers--the flowers?"

"He left word for them to be sent just the same, and the money for it."

Medallion turned and took off his hat reverently, as if a soul were