If Mr. Barbo had not been constitutionally unlucky, he might have perceived Mr. Hopper, before dark that evening, in conversation with Mr. Hood about a certain customer who lived up town, and presently leave the store by the side entrance.  He walked as rapidly as his legs would carry him, for they were a trifle short for his body; and in due time, as the lamps were flickering, he arrived near Colonel Carvel’s large double residence, on Tenth and Locust streets.  Then he walked slowly along Tenth, his eyes lifted to the tall, curtained windows.  Now and anon they scanned passers-by for a chance acquaintance.

Mr. Hopper walked around the block, arriving again opposite the Carvel house, and beside Mr. Renault’s, which was across from it.  Eliphalet had inherited the principle of mathematical chances.  It is a fact that the discreet sometimes take chances.  Towards the back of Mr. Renault’s residence, a wide area was sunk to the depth of a tall man, which was apparently used for the purpose of getting coal and wood into the cellar.  Mr. Hopper swept the neighborhood with a glance.  The coast was clear, and he dropped into the area.

Although the evening was chill, at first Mr. Hopper perspired very freely.  He crouched in the area while the steps of pedestrians beat above his head, and took no thought but of escape.  At last, however, he grew cooler, removed his hat, and peeped over the stone coping.  Colonel Carvel’s house—­her house—­was now ablaze with lights, and the shades not yet drawn.  There was the dining room, where the negro butler was moving about the table; and the pantry, where the butler went occasionally; and the kitchen, with black figures moving about.  But upstairs on the two streets was the sitting room.  The straight figure of the Colonel passed across the light.  He held a newspaper in his hand.  Suddenly, full in the window, he stopped and flung away the paper.  A graceful shadow slipped across the wall.  Virginia laid her hands on his shoulders, and he stooped to kiss her.  Now they sat between the curtains, she on the arm of his chair and leaning on him, together looking out of the window.

How long this lasted Mr. Hopper could not say.  Even the wise forget themselves.  But all at once a wagon backed and bumped against the curb in front of him, and Eliphalet’s head dropped as if it had been struck by the wheel.  Above him a sash screamed as it opened, and he heard Mr. Renault’s voice say, to some person below: 

“Is that you, Capitaine Grant?”

“The same,” was the brief reply.

“I am charmed that you have brought the wood.  I thought that you had forgotten me.”

“I try to do what I say, Mr. Renault.”

“Attendez—­wait!” cried Mr. Renault, and closed the window.

Now was Eliphalet’s chance to bolt.  The perspiration had come again, and it was cold.  But directly the excitable little man, Renault, had appeared on the pavement above him.  He had been running.