They paid to see _me._ Now I can dance no more. Yes, you are right, I am awake at last; and I tell you I am some one else. I have been in a dream, it seems to me, for years. But now I can see."

"Well, let the dancing go," said Decherd, rising and coming toward her. "Never mind about that."

"Let everything go!" cried Miss Lady, fiercely. "Let everything go!

Marry you? Why, sir, if indeed you understood a girl, you would not want me to come to you feeling as I do now. Can't you see that a girl must _depend_ on the man she loves? I have tried to feel sure. I have tried to see you clearly. Now, to-night, it is just as it was that time years ago when you spoke to me; something comes between us.

I can not see you clearly. I can not understand. And so long as that is true, I can never, never marry you. I can not talk about it. Go! I do not want to see you!"

A sudden alarm seized upon Henry Decherd. "Listen," he said; "listen to me. I can not have you talk this way. Why, you know this sort of thing is absolutely wrong."

"Everything's wrong!" cried Miss Lady, burying her face in her hands as she sank on a couch. "Everything is wrong! I am ashamed, I can not tell you why. I don't know why, but I have changed, all at once. I'm not myself any more. I'm some one else. I don't know _who_ I am!

I never knew. Oh, shall I never know--shall I never understand why I am not myself!"

Decherd caught her hands. "We shall not wait," said he, "we'll be married to-morrow." His voice trembled in a real emotion, although on his face there sat an uneasiness not easily read. "Dearest, forget all this," he repeated. "Go home and sleep, and to-morrow--"

Her eyes flashed in the swift, imperious anger wherewith upon the instant s.e.x may dominate s.e.x, leaving no argument or answer. Yet in the next breath the girl turned away, her anger faded into anxiety.

She wavered, softened in her att.i.tude.

"Oh, he told me, he told me!" murmured she to herself. "I can not--I can not!" She seemed unconscious of Decherd's presence. But soon she forgot her own soliloquy. Once more she looked Decherd squarely in the face.

"I can not marry you," she said. "I _will_ not!"

"I'll not allow you to make a fool of yourself, or of me," said Decherd. "What do you mean--who is 'he'?"

He had his answer on the moment, not from her lips, but by one of those strange freaks of fate which often set us wondering in our commonplace lives.

There came a tap at the door, and a call boy offered a card. "It's against orders, I know, ma'am," he began, "but then--"

Decherd, full of suspicion, sprang at the messenger and caught the card before Miss Lady saw it. His swift glance gave him small comfort.

"Eddring!" he cried. "By G.o.d! John Eddring! So--"

"Yes," she flashed again at him. "You are rude; and there is your answer; and here is mine to you, and him." She turned to the call boy.

"Tell the gentleman that Miss Loisson can not be seen," said she.

A ghastly look had come upon Henry Decherd's face at these words. His features were livid in his rage. "So Eddring is here, is he!" said he, "and he has been talking to you! By G.o.d, I'd kill him if I thought--"

"Carry my wrap, sir!" said Miss Lady, rising like a queen. "You may do so much for the last time. At the gate I shall bid you good-by.

Open the door!"

CHAPTER VII

THE SUMMONS

As though in a dream, Miss Lady followed Decherd to the entrance, near which stood a carriage in the narrow little street. She scarcely looked at his face, and did not note his hurried words to the driver.

Silent and distraught, she took no note of their direction as the wheels rattled over the rude flags of the medieval pa.s.sageway. The carriage turned corner after corner in its jolting progress, and finally trundled smoothly for a time, but Miss Lady, hoping only that this journey might soon end, scarce noticed where it had ended. She saw only that it was not at the gate of Madame Delcha.s.se's house, and, startled at this, expostulated with Decherd, who reasoned, argued, pleaded.

Meantime, at the gate of the old house on the Esplanade, Madame Delcha.s.se waited uneasily alone. Perhaps half an hour had pa.s.sed, and madame could scarce contain herself longer, when finally she heard the rattle of wheels and saw descending at the curb a stranger, who hurriedly approached her carriage window.

"Pardon, Madame," said he, as he removed his hat, "this carriage is, perhaps, for the house of Madame Delcha.s.se?"

"It is, Monsieur," said madame, frigidly. "I am Madame Delcha.s.se."

"Pardon me, Madame," said the new-comer, "my name is Eddring, John Eddring. I would not presume to come at such an hour were it not that I have a message, a very urgent one, for Miss Loisson. She refused to see me at the theater, and I came here; she _must_ have this message.

It is not for myself that--"

Madame drew back into her carriage. "Monsieur," said she, "I say to you, bah! and again, bah!"

"You mistake," said Eddring, hurriedly. "It is only the message which I would have delivered. It is only on her account." Something in his voice caught the attention of madame, and she hesitated. "It is strange mademoiselle do not arrive," she said. "Monsieur Decherd should have brought her 'ome before this."

"Decherd!" cried Eddring.

"_Mais oui._ He is her _fiance._ What is it that it is to you, Monsieur?"

"Listen, listen, Madame!" cried Eddring, "We must find them. This message is one of life and death. Come, your carriage--" and before madame could expostulate the two were seated together in madame's carriage, and it was whirling back on the return journey to the Odeon.

Eddring fell on the doorkeeper. "Miss Loisson! Where is she? When did she leave?" he demanded; and madame added much voluble French.

"Mademoiselle left with a young gentleman a half-hour ago," said the doorkeeper. "I heard him say, 'Drive to the levee.' Perhaps they would see the high water, yes?"

"That's likely!" cried Eddring, springing back into the carriage, "but we will go there, too." Hence their carriage also whirled around corner after corner, and presently trundled along the smoother way of the levee. Pa.s.sing between the interminably long rows of cotton-bales they met a carriage coming away as they approached, and Eddring, upon the mere chance of it, accosted the driver.

"Did you bring two persons, a young lady and a young man, here a moment ago?" said he.

"Not here," said the driver, pulling up. "But I took them lower down on the levee. They went on board the _Opelousas Queen._ You'll have to hurry if you want to catch, them. She's done whistled, an'

'll be backin' out mighty quick."

Eddring hardly waited for the end of his speech. "We must find them,"

said he to madame at his side, who now was becoming thoroughly frightened. "There is something wrong in this. I must get this message to Miss Loisson, and I must find out what all this means."

A few moments later their own carriage brought up with a jerk, and Eddring, dragging madame by the arm, hurried across the stage plank almost as it was on the point of being raised.

"What do you mean?" growled the clerk to the hurried arrivals, as the _Queen_ slowly turned out into the stream.

"Did a couple come aboard just now, a few minutes ahead of us?" cried Eddring, taking him by the shoulder in his excitement.

"Why, yes. But they didn't come in such a hurry as you do. Where are you going?"

"Wait," said Eddring. "What was the girl like? Tall, dark hair, wore a cloak, perhaps? And the man--was he rather thin, dark--had oddish eyes?"

"Why, yes; I reckon that's who they were," grumbled the clerk.

Eddring paid no attention to him. "Madame," said he, "they must be on the boat.

"Now look; here is my message, Madame," he resumed, as he led her apart to avoid the clerk. "You will see why I have brought you here, and why I had to find Miss Loisson and this Mr. Decherd." He handed to her two pieces of paper--messages from Colonel Calvin Blount addressed to him at New Orleans. The first one read: "We are organized; come quick. More levee-cutting."