I resisted no longer, but followed him down the levee, in my heart thanking heaven that he had not taken a fancy to an octoroon.  Twilight had set in strongly, the gay crowd was beginning to disperse, and in the distance the three figures could be seen making their way across the Place d’Armes, the girl hanging on the elderly gentleman’s arm, and the young man following with seeming sullenness behind.  They turned into one of the narrower streets, and we quickened our steps.  Lights gleamed in the houses; voices and laughter, and once the tinkle of a guitar came to us from court-yard and gallery.  But Nick, hurrying on, came near to bowling more than one respectable citizen we met on the banquette, into the ditch.  We reached a corner, and the three were nowhere to be seen.

“Curse the luck!” cried Nick, “we have lost them.  The next time I’ll stop for no explanations.”

There was no particular reason why I should have been penitent, but I ventured to say that the house they had entered could not be far off.

“And how the devil are we to know it?” demanded Nick.

This puzzled me for a moment, but presently I began to think that the two might begin quarrelling again, and said so.  Nick laughed and put his arm around my neck.

“You have no mean ability for intrigue when you put your mind to it, Davy,” he said; “I vow I believe you are in love with the girl yourself.”

I disclaimed this with some vehemence.  Indeed, I had scarcely seen her.

“They can’t be far off,” said Nick; “we’ll pitch on a likely house and camp in front of it until bedtime.”

“And be flung into a filthy calaboose by a constable,” said I.  “No, thank you.”

We walked on, and halfway down the block we came upon a new house with more pretensions than its neighbors.  It was set back a little from the street, and there was a high adobe wall into which a pair of gates were set, and a wicket opening in one of them.  Over the wall hung a dark fringe of magnolia and orange boughs.  On each of the gate-posts a crouching lion was outlined dimly against the fainting light, and, by crossing the street, we could see the upper line of a latticed gallery under the low roof.  We took our stand within the empty doorway of a blackened house, nearly opposite, and there we waited, Nick murmuring all sorts of ridiculous things in my ear.  But presently I began to reflect upon the consequences of being taken in such a situation by a constable and dragged into the light of a public examination.  I put this to Nick as plainly as I could, and was declaring my intention of going back to Madame Bouvet’s, when the sound of voices arrested me.  The voices came from the latticed gallery, and they were low at first, but soon rose to such an angry pitch that I made no doubt we had hit on the right house after all.  What they said was lost to us, but I could distinguish the woman’s voice, low-pitched and vibrant as though insisting upon a refusal, and the