“Ah! oh! h’nn!” Mlle. Corinne sprang to an elbow, nervously whispering:  “What is it?”

“My back do’,” he murmured, “stan’in’ opem.”

“Oh, little boy, no, it cannot be!  I bolt’ it laz’ evening when you was praying.  You know?”

“Yass’m, but it opem now; Marie Madeleine dess gone out thu it.”

Mlle. Yvonne sprang up dishevelled beside her dishevelled sister:  “Mon dieu! where is Aline?”

Colder than ever in hands and feet, the wee grandson of the intrepid Sidney responded:  “Stay still tell I go see.”

“Yes!” whispered Mlle. Corinne, slipping to the floor and tenderly pushing him, “go! safest for everybody!  And if you see a burglar don’ threaten him!”

“No’m, I won’t.”

“No, but juz’ run quick out the back door and fron’ gate and holla ‘fire’!  Go!”

At the crack of the door she listened after him while her sister crowded close, whispering:  “Ah, pauvre Aline, always wise!  Like us, silent!  And tha’z after all the bravezt!”

In a moment Cupid was back, less frozen yet trembling:  “She am’ dah.  Seem’ like ‘tis her leave de do’ opem.”

“Her clothes—­they are gone?”

“No’m, all dah ‘cep’ de cloak she tuck on de machine.  Reckon she out in de honey-sucker bower whah dey sot together Sunday evenin’.  Reckon Marie Madeleine gone dah.  I’ll go see.”

“Ah, fearlezz boy, yes!  Make quick!”

This time both women pushed, single file, all the way to the garden door.  There they strained their sight down the path, beyond him, but the bower was quite dark.  “Corinne, chere, ought not one of us to go, yo’seff?—­to spare her feelings—­from that li’l’ negro?  You don’ think one of us ought to go, yo’seff?”

“No, to sen’ him, that is to spare those feel’—­listen! . . .  Ah, Yvonne, grace au ciel, she’s there!”

They frankly wept.  “Thangg the good God!”

“Yvonne, chere, you know, we are the cause of this.  ’Tis biccause juz’—­you and me.  And she’s gone yonder juz’ for one thing; to be as far from her miserie as she can.”

“Yes, chere, I billieve that.  I think even, she muz’ not see us when she’s riturning.”  No footfall sounded, but the cat came in, tail up, purring.  Back in their chamber, with wet cheeks on its unlatched door, the sisters listened.

“I know what we muz’ do, Yvonne, as soon as to-morrow.  Tha’z strange I never saw that biffo’!”

Cupid came and was let in.  “She was al-lone, of co’se?” the pair asked from the edge of their bed.

“Oh, yass’m, o’ co’se; in a manneh, yass’m.”

“Mon dieu! li’l boy.  In a manner?  But how in a manner?  Al-lone is al-lone!  What she was doing?”

“Is I got to tell dat?”

“Ah, ’tit garcon!  Have you not got to tell it?”

“Well, she ’uz—­she ’uz prayin’.”