"Yes," said John Eddring, "it's Miss Lady. The rest makes little difference."

"Go on, then," said Blount, fiercely, smiting on the table. "Now, find out about this Louise Loisson. Maybe then you'll hear something, somewhere, that'll give you track of our Miss Lady. Start to New Orleans at once--I'm going down home, to watch that end of the line.

We're going after those levee-cutters. As I said, we may want you, and if I send for you, get to my place as fast as you can. Never mind how you get there, but come. And man! if we could only get Miss Lady back! If she--"

"If we could!" said John Eddring, reverently.

CHAPTER IV

THE RELIGION OF JULES

Eddring made his journey to New Orleans, as he had promised. On the morning following his arrival he took his breakfast at one of the quaint cafes of the city, a place with sanded floors and cl.u.s.tered tables, and a frank view of a kitchen in full though deliberate operation. One Jules, duck-footed, solemn and deliberate, served him, and was const.i.tuted general philosopher and friend, as had for some time been Eddring's custom in his frequent visits to this place.

"Jules," said he, tapping the newspaper in his hand, "how about this?

It seems you have a new dancer at the Odeon, very beautiful, very mysterious, very interesting!"

"Ah, Monsieur, all the young gentlemen they grow crezzy, that is now four, five month, Monsieur."

"Who is she, then, Jules, and what? Is she indeed very beautiful?"

"It is establish', Monsieur. No one has ever seen her face. As to her grace and youth, it is not to doubt. She dance always in the domino, and no man may say in truth he has pa.s.s' word with Louise Loisson.

She is the idol, the _nouvelle sensation_ of the city."

"Goes masked, eh? Young, beautiful, eh? Well, I should say that's not bad advertising, at least."

"Monsieur," said Jules, earnestly, "do not say it at the club. It would provoke discussion, and the young gentlemen might have anger.

Mademoiselle Louise is worship' in this town. At first, _non!_ It was thought as you say. But soon this feeling of the young men it has shange'. It has go into devotion. Now it is religion!"

"Well, that is a pretty state of affairs, isn't it?"

"But I say to you that this Louise Loisson, she dance not like the othair _femmes du ballet--absolument non."_ Jules became excited, spreading out his hands and letting fall his napkin.

"It is different, the quality of the dance of mademoiselle," said he.

"It is _quelque chose,_ I do not know what. It is not to describe. It make you _think,_ tha.s.s all. As I say, she has come to be a religion."

"But where does this divine creature live, Jules? Who is she? Come, now? you ought to tell me that much,"

Jules went on polishing a gla.s.s. "Ah, Monsieur, why you h'ask?" said he. "I may say so much, like this; she live with a lady in the French town--very fine, very quiet, very secret. It is the house of old family which was bought by Madame Delcha.s.se. Madame, you have know, perhaps? She was long time the bes' cook in New Orleans. She make plenty money. When Mademoiselle Louise she first come here, she is very poor, she have no friend. Somehow she is found by this Madame Delcha.s.se. Monsieur and Madame Delcha.s.se, they have once together the res'traw. Monsieur is very fond of the _escargot a la Bourgogne,_ and one day he eat too many _escargot._ Madame, she run the res'traw, sell great many meal to the dam-yankees; sell the cook-_book_ to the dam- yankees _aussi._ Thus she get rich--very rich, and buy the house on l'Esplanade. But madame is lonely. She is not receive' by the old French _familles._ Monsieur Delcha.s.se is dead, her shildren are dead-- she is alone. She take Louise Loisson home to live. My faith! she is watch her like the cat."

"But how about this dancing? Why does she need to dance?" queried Eddring.

"Ah, she has dance two, t'ree time in the house of Madame Delcha.s.se.

'It is zhenius,' exclaim Madame Pelcha.s.se at this dance; and always, and always, _tou-jours,_ she tell of the zhenius of this _jeune fille_ who has come live with her. Tha.s.s all. The _proprietaire_ of the Odeon, he fin' it hout. He insist, this _jeune fille_ shall dance. She riffuse. He insist, he offer much money. At las', she say she dance if she have always the masque. _'Bon!'_ he cry, and so it is determine'.

She dance always in the domino. It is most romantique, most a'mirab'.

So this is now the religion of all the young men, _mais, oui,_ this _jeune fille,_ Mademoiselle Louise Loisson!"

"And how does Madame Delcha.s.se regard this public dancing by her _jeune fille?"_

"Monsieur, she worship' Mademoiselle Louise. But she say, 'This is art, and of art the world it is not to be deprive!' It is well for both madame and for Mademoiselle Louise. The luxury of those room in those old house, they far surpa.s.s the best of what one find in the new hotel. Mademoiselle have the best cook in New Orleans. She come in her carriage, she go the same. She drive up to the gate on l'Esplanade, and the gate is close! Behold all! You know so much as any gentleman of _Nouvelle Orleans_--you have the tenderloin of trout?"

After breakfast Eddring strolled over to the box office of the Odeon; but though he made diligent inquiry of the young man who met him at the window, the latter could give him no satisfaction beyond the mention of the address on the Esplanade where dwelt Madame Delcha.s.se.

He was very lukewarm in regard to further inquiries from the stranger.

The flavor of this little adventure began now to appeal to Eddring, and thus left to his own resources, he determined to a.s.sume a bold front and call in person at the old house on the Esplanade. It being still early, he wandered for a time about the strange old city; but the crooked streets and their quaint shops had lost their charm. The ancient Place d'Armes, the old Cabildo, the French market, the tumble-down buildings which house the courts of justice ceased to interest him. He was relieved when finally he felt it proper to turn up the old Esplanade, which wandered away with its rows of whitened trees, out among the dignified and reticent residences of the _vieux carre_.

The flavor of another day came to him. This, indeed, was the same _Nouvelle Orleans,_ he reflected, from which in an earlier day the first Louise Loisson had set sail for France! He, by virtue of this old volume now resting in his pocket, was concerned with the fortunes of that earlier Louise Loisson. And yet, he acknowledged the growing feeling that in this matter there was coming to be for him something more than a professional interest. This thought he put away as best he could, chiding himself as perpetually visionary, though old enough now to dream no more.

In time he arrived at the street number to which he had been directed, and paused at the iron street gate which shielded even the carriage drive from the public. Through the bars of the gate he could see a well-kept, formal lawn and the peaked roof of the close- shuttered, green-balconied dwelling beyond. There could not have been a better abode, he reflected, for this mysterious personage who had called him hither on this fantastic, will-o'-the-wisp journey. Yet he pulled himself up with disgust. He dared not hope! He reproved himself sharply. No doubt he was to see presently a gushing or garrulous or ignorant young woman, whose pretended modesty was but an artifice, whose real soul was set upon the adulation of the public and the pecuniary gain received thereby. He was almost of a mind to turn away, and end his quest then and there.

He was not prepared for what was soon to happen. There came a hum of wheels along the old roadway, and a carriage pulled up at the walk.

There alighted quickly the figure of a young girl, tall, slender, round, full-chested, abounding in health and vigor. So much could be seen at a glance. As to the face of the new-comer, the eyes were shielded by a dark blue domino, or short mask. Eddring saw beneath, this concealment a strong, round, tender chin; above, a pile of red- brown hair. He caught the flash of a sweeping bunch of scarlet ribbons, heard a quick rustling of skirts, saw an inscrutable face turned toward him; and then, before he had time to think or speak, a servant had swept open the great iron gate and the young woman had stepped within. She did not look back, but pa.s.sed on rapidly up the gravel walk toward the house. And John Eddring, foolish, stunned, abashed, knew that he had seen the mysterious Louise Loisson! Ah, he had seen more--he had seen another!

He turned as he heard a footstep and a soft voice at his elbow. The pa.s.serby accosted him smiling, and he recognized Jules, the duck- footed.

"Ah, Monsieur," said the latter, "I see you have also discover' the shrine. Is it not beautiful, Monsieur--this worship of a pure _jeune fille?"_

The words brought Eddring back to his own proper senses. Forgetting all else, he sprang through the big gate, past the servant, and hastened up the walk. "Miss Lady! Miss Lady!" he cried.

CHAPTER V

DISCOVERY

"Miss Lady!" cried Eddring, yet again; and even as the hurrying figure before him reached the gallery steps, she heard the entreaty of his voice and turned. As she did so she tore from her face the concealing mask and stood before him, Miss Lady indeed--tall, straight, young and beautiful. Eddring moved forward impetuously, feeling all the thrill of her presence; all the lambency of woman, planet-like, far-off, mysterious. Eagerly he looked, and questioningly, doubtingly, and then there came a quick content to his heart. In spite of all, in spite of what might have been, this was Miss Lady herself and none other! Sweet as of old, and ah, fit indeed for worship! Ah, here, he cried out to himself, was that friend of his soul, lost now for a time, but found, now found again!

But even as he pressed forward, holding out his hands, his emotion shining in his eyes, there came a change upon Miss Lady's face.

"Ah, Mr. Eddring, it is you?" she said, and her voice had the upward inflection, as though she carelessly addressed an inferior. "I remember you very well, but I hardly thought to see you. Indeed, I should hardly have expected to see any one in just this way."

All that Eddring could do was to falter and cry out, "Yes, I have come! I have found you!"

"Indeed? But we do not receive callers. Our plan of life has been arranged otherwise. You might be observed even now. It would cause talk."

"Talk!" cried Eddring, now suddenly breaking into flame. "Why, let them talk! It is time there was talk--time you talked to some of your old friends--you, Miss Lady, who had so many friends."

"Friends!" said the girl, bitterly. "Friends!"

"Yes, friends!" cried Eddring. "Surely you know that Blount and I have moved heaven and earth trying to find you. Why you should go, why you should leave every one in ignorance and take up with mummery like _this_--it is something no sane person can tell. You have not done right, Miss Lady. You have not done right!"

The girl raised her head, a flame of anger upon her own cheek at this presumption. Yet she reserved her speech, and by gesture led Eddring to a spot concealed by the ivy-covered lattice. Her cheeks burned all the more hotly as Eddring went on.

"What mockery!" he cried.