compare with him. Not even the Cure was his superior in ability, and
certainly he was a greater man--though seemingly only a tailor--than M.
Rossignol. M. Rossignol--she flushed. Who could have believed that the
Seigneur would say those words to her this morning--to her, Rosalie
Evanturel, who hadn't five hundred dollars to her name? That she should
be asked to be Madame Rossignol! Confusion mingled with her simple
pride, and she ran out into the street, to where her father sat listening
to the medicine-man singing, in doubtful French:

"I am a waterman bold,
Oh, I'm a waterman bold:
But for my lass I have great fear,
Yes, in the isles I have great fear,
For she is young, and I am old,
And she is bien gentille!"

It was night now. The militia had departed, their Colonel roaring
commands at them out of a little red drill-book; the older people had
gone to their homes, but festive youth hovered round the booths and
sideshows, the majority enjoying themselves at some expense in the
medicine-man's encampment.

As Rosalie ran towards the crowd she turned a wistful glance to the
tailor-shop. Not a sign of life there! She imagined M'sieu' to be at
Vadrome Mountain, until, glancing round the crowd at the quack-doctor's
wagon, she saw Jo Portugais gloomily watching the travelling tinker of
human bodies. Evidently M'sieu' was not at Vadrome Mountain.

He was not far from her. At the side of the road, under a huge maple-
tree with wide-spreading branches, Charley stood and watched John Brown