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As softly as a shadow I drew out of sight, turned away, and went almost back to the gate before I let my footfall be heard, and called, “M’sieu’ Fontenette!”

He hallooed from the shed in a playful sham of being a mile or so away, and emerged from the lattice and vine with that accustomed light of equanimity on his features which made him always so thoroughly good- looking. He came hitching his waistband with both hands in that innocent Creole way that belongs to the latitude, and how I knew I cannot tell you, but I did know–I didn’t merely feel or think, but I knew!–positively— that he had that hideous thing on his person.

Against what contingency I could only ask myself and wonder, but I instantly decided to get him away from home and keep him away until the picnickers had got back and scattered. So I proposed a walk, a diversion we had often enjoyed together.

“Yes?” he said, “to pazz the time whilse they don’t arrive? With the greates’ of pleasu’e!”

I dare say we were both more preoccupied than we thought we were, for outside the gate we fairly ran into a lady–yes; a seamstress–the wife of the entomologist. My stars! She had seemed winning enough before, but now –what a rise in values! As we conversed it was all I could do to keep my eyes from saying: “A man with you for a wife belongs at home whenever he can be there!” But whether they spoke it or not, in some way, without word or glance, by simple radiations from the whole sweet woman, she revealed that to make that fact plain to him, to her, and to all of us, was what this new emphasis of charm was for.

She had come, she said–and scarcely on the lips of the loveliest Creole did I ever hear a more bewitching broken-English–she had come according to a half-promise made to Mrs. Fontenette to show her–“I tidn’t etsectly promised, I chust said I vill some time come—-“

“And Mrs. Fontenette didn’t object,” I playfully interrupted–

“No,” said the unruffled speaker, “I chust said I vill come; yes; to show her a new vay to remoof, remoof? is sat English? So? A new vay to remoof old stains.”

“A new way–” responded Fontenette, with an air of gravest interest in all matters of laundry.

“Yes,” she repeated, as simply as a babe, “a new vay; and I sought I come now so to go home viss mine hussbandt.” There, at last, she smiled, and to make the caressing pride of her closing tone still prettier, lifted her figured muslin out sidewise between thumb and forefinger of each hand with even more archaic grace than playfulness.

As the three of us crossed over and took seats on my veranda, we were joined by the neighbor whose garden-trees I have mentioned; the man of whom I have told you, how he failed to strike a bargain with old Manouvrier, the taxidermist. He was a Missourian, in the produce business, a thoroughly good fellow, but–well–oh–!

He came perspiring, flourishing a palm-leaf fan and a large handkerchief, to say I might keep all the shade his tall house and trees dropped on my side of the fence. And presently what does the simple fellow do but begin to chaff the three of us on the absence of our three partners!

VI

I held my breath in dismay! The more I strove to change the subject the more our fat wag, fancying he was teasing me to the delight of the others, harped on the one string, until with pure apprehension of what Fontenette might presently do or say, my blood ran hot and cold. But Monsieur showed neither amusement nor annoyance, only a perfectly gracious endurance. Yet how could I know what instant his forbearance might give way, or what serpent’s eggs the joker’s inanities might in the next day or hour turn out to be, laid in the hot heart of the Creole gentleman? Then it was that this slender little German seamstress-wife shone forth like the first star of the breathless twilight.