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“I know the bayou must be ready to overflow,” went the letter in the carefully phrased French that the brothers taught at the parochial school, “and I am glad, for I want to see the dear maman and my Louisette. I am not so well, and Monsieur le docteur says it is well for me to go to the South again.”

Monsieur le docteur! Sylves’ not well! The thought struck a chill to the hearts of Ma’am Mouton and Louisette, but not for long. Of course, Sylves’ was not well, he needed some of maman’s tisanes. Then he was homesick; it was to be expected.

At last the great day came, Sylves’ would be home. The brown waters of the bayou had spread until they were seemingly trying to rival the Mississippi in width. The little house was scrubbed and cleaned until it shone again. Louisette had looked her dainty little dress over and over to be sure that there was not a flaw to be found wherein Sylves’ could compare her unfavourably to the stylish Chicago girls.

The train rumbled in on the platform, and two pair of eyes opened wide for the first glimpse of Sylves’. The porter, all officiousness and brass buttons, bustled up to Ma’am Mouton.

“This is Mrs. Mouton?” he inquired deferentially.

Ma’am Mouton nodded, her heart sinking. “Where is Sylves’?”

“He is here, madam.”

There appeared Joseph Lascaud, then some men bearing Something. Louisette put her hands up to her eyes to hide the sight, but Ma’am Mouton was rigid.

“It was too cold for him,” Joseph was saying to almost deaf ears, “and he took the consumption. He thought he could get well when he come home. He talk all the way down about the bayou, and about you and Louisette. Just three hours ago he had a bad hemorrhage, and he died from weakness. Just three hours ago. He said he wanted to get home and give Louisette her diamond ring, when the bayou overflowed.”