Chester—­“had heard one or two of its episodes only the evening before, at that up-town dinner, from a fine old down-town Creole, a fellow guest, with whom he was to dine the next week.”

“Aha-a-a! precizely ac-rozz the street from Mme. Alexandre!” said the hostess.  “M’sieu’ et Madame De l’Isle!  Now I detec’ that!”

“Have they no son?—­or—­or daughter?” he asked.

“Not any,” Mme. Alexandre broke in with a significant sparkle; “juz’ the two al-lone.”

“They live over my shop,” Beloiseau said.  “You muz’ know that double gate nex’ adjoining me.”

“Oh, that lovely piece of ironwork?  I took that for a part of your establishment.”

“I have only the uze of it with them.  My grandpere he made those gate’, for the father of Mme. De l’Isle, same year he made those great openwork gate’ of Hotel St. Louis.  You speak of episode’!  One summer, renovating that hotel, they paint’ those gate’—­of iron openwork—­in imitation—­mon Dieu!—­of marbl’! Ciel! the tragedy of that!  Yes, they live over me; in the whole square, both side’ the street, last remaining of the ’igh society.”

When Mme. Alexandre finally rose to go, and had kissed the upturned brow of her hostess, she went by an inner door and rear balcony.  And when Chester and Beloiseau began to take leave their host said to Chester: 

“You dine with M. De l’Isle Tuesday.  Well, if you’ll come again here the next evening we’ll attend to—­that business.”

“Wouldn’t that be losing time?  I can just as well come sooner.”

“No,” said madame, “better that Wednesday.”

Chester was nettled, but he recovered when the ironworker walked with him around into Bienville Street and at his pension door lamented the pathetic decay of the useful arts and of artistic taste, since the advent of castings and machinery.  The pair took such liking for each other’s tenets of beauty, morals, art, and life that Chester walked back to the De l’Isle gates, and their parting at last was at the corner half-way between their two domiciles.

Meanwhile madame was saying to her spouse, “Aha! you see?  The power of prayer!  Ab-ove all, for the he’pless!  By day the fo’ corner’ of my room, by night the fo’ post’ of my bed, are——­”

“Yes, cherie, I know.”

“Yes, they’re to me for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John!  Since three days every time I heard the cathedral clock I’ve prayed to them; and now——!”

“Well, my angel?  Now?”

“Well, now!  He’s dining there next Tuesday!”

“Truly.  Yet even now we can only hope——­”

“Ah, no!  Me, I can also continue to supplicate!  From now till Wednesday, every time that clock, I’ll pray those four evangelistes! and Thursday you’ll see—­the power of prayer!  Oh, ’tis like magique, that power of prayer!”