$tisanes, 4 or2grigris, 4 or all three. As if he knew! There was Purgatory Mary, perambulating soul whose office in life was to pray for the shades in purgatory,- she had brought Mamzelle Aglae a bottle of2eau de Lourdes, 4 but so little of it! She might have kept her water of Lourdes, for all the good it did,- a drop! Not so much as would cure a fly or a mosquito! Mamzelle Aglae was going to show Purgatory Mary the door when she came again, not only because of her avarice with the Lourdes water, but, beside that, she brought in on her feet dirt that could only be removed with a shovel after she left.

And Mamzelle Aglae wanted to inform Chicot that there would be slaughter and bloodshed in2la maison grise 4 if the people below stairs did not mend their ways. She was convinced that they lived for no other purpose than to torture and molest her. The woman kept a bucket of dirty water constantly on the landing with the hope of Mamzelle Aglae falling over it or into it. And she knew that the children were instructed to gather in the hall and on the stairway, and scream and make a noise and jump up and down like galloping horses, with the intention of driving her to suicide. Chicot should notify the policeman on the beat, and have them arrested, if possible, and thrust into the parish prison, where they belonged.

Chicot would have been extremely alarmed if he had ever chanced to find Mamzelle Aglae in an uncomplaining mood. It never occurred to him that she might be otherwise. He felt that she had a right to quarrel with fate, if ever mortal had. Her poverty was a disgrace, and he hung his head before it and felt ashamed.

One day he found Mamzelle Aglae stretched on the bed, with her head tied up in a handkerchief. Her sole complaint that day was, "Aie- aie- aie! Aie- aie- aie!" uttered with every breath. He had seen her so before, especially when the weather was damp.

"Vous pas bezouin tisane, Mamzelle Aglae? Vous pas veux mo cri gagni docteur?"

She desired nothing. "Aie- aie- aie!"

He emptied his bag very quietly, so as not to disturb her; and he wanted to stay there with her and lie down on the floor in case she needed him, but the woman from below had come up. She was an Irishwoman with rolled sleeves.

"It's a shtout shtick I'm afther giving her, Neg, and she do but knock on the flure it's me or Janie or wan of us that'll be hearing her."

"You too good, Brigitte. Aie- aie- aie! Une goutte d'eau sucre, Neg! That Purg'tory Marie,- you see hair, ma bonne Brigitte, you tell hair go say li'le prayer la-bas au Cathedral. Aie- aie- aie!"

Neg could hear her lamentation as he descended the stairs. It followed him as he limped his way through the city streets, and seemed part of the city's noise; he could hear it in the rumble of wheels and jangle of carbells, and in the voices of those passing by.

He stopped at Mimotte the Voudou's shanty and bought a2grigri 4- a cheap one for fifteen cents. Mimotte held her charms at all prices. This he intended to introduce next day into Mamzelle Aglae's room,- somewhere about the altar,- to the confusion and discomfort of "Michie bon Dieu," who persistently declined to concern himself with the welfare of a Boisdure.

At night, among the reeds on the bayou, Chicot could still hear the woman's wail, mingled now with the croaking of the frogs. If he could have been convinced that giving up his life down there in the water would in any way have bettered her condition, he would not have hesitated to sacrifice the remnant of his existence that was wholly devoted to her. He lived but to serve her. He did not know it himself, but Chicot knew so little, and that little in such a distorted way! He could scarcely have been expected, even in his most lucid moments, to give himself over to self-analysis.

Chicot gathered an uncommon amount of dainties at market the following day. He had to work hard, and scheme and whine a little; but he got hold of an orange and a lump of ice and a2chou-fleur. 4 He did not drink his cup of2cafe au lait, 4 but asked Mimi Lambeau to put it in the little new tin pail that the Hebrew notion-vender had just given him in exchange for a mess of shrimps. This time, however, Chicot had his trouble for nothing. When he reached the upper room of2la maison grise, 4 it was to find that Mamzelle Aglae had died during the night. He set his bag down in the middle of the floor, and stood shaking, and whined low like a dog in pain.

Everything had been done. The Irishwoman had gone for the doctor, and Purgatory Mary had summoned a priest. Furthermore, the woman had arranged Mamzelle Aglae decently. She had covered the table with a white cloth, and had placed it at the head of the bed, with the crucifix and two lighted candles in silver candlesticks upon it; the little bit of ornamentation brightened and embellished the poor room. Purgatory Mary, dressed in shabby black, fat and breathing hard, sat reading half audibly from a prayerbook. She was watching the dead and the silver candlesticks, which she had borrowed from a benevolent society, and for which she held herself responsible. A young man was just leaving,- a reporter snuffing the air for items, who had scented one up there in the top room of2la maison grise. 4

All the morning Janie had been escorting a procession of street Arabs up and down the stairs to view the remains. One of them- a little girl, who had had her face washed and made a species of toilet for the occasion- refused to be dragged away. She stayed seated as if at an entertainment, fascinated alternately by the long, still figure of Mamzelle Aglae, the mumbling lips of Purgatory Mary, and the silver candlesticks.

"Will ye get down on yer knees, man, and say a prayer for the dead!" commanded the woman.

But Chicot only shook his head, and refused to obey. He approached the bed, and laid a little black paw for a moment on the stiffened body of Mamzelle Aglae. There was nothing for him to do here. He picked up his old ragged hat and his bag and went away.

"The black h'athen!" the woman muttered. "Shut the dure, child."

The little girl slid down from her chair, and went on tiptoe to shut the door which Chicot had left open. Having resumed her seat, she fastened her eyes upon Purgatory Mary's heaving chest.

"You, Chicot!" cried Matteo's wife the next morning. "My man, he read in paper 'bout woman name' Boisdure, use b'long to big-a famny. She die roun'on St. Philip- po', same-a like church rat. It's any them Boisdures you alla talk 'bout?"

Chicot shook his head in slow but emphatic denial. No, indeed, the woman was not of kin to his Boisdures. He surely had told Matteo's wife often enough- how many times did he have to repeat it!- of their wealth, their social standing. It was doubtless some Boisdure of

$les Attakapas; 4 it was none of his.