It was in keeping with the coterie's spiritual make-up that they should
know a restaurant in the _vieux carré_, which "that pewblic" knew not,
and whose best merits were not music and fresco, but serenity,
hospitality, and cuisine---a haven not yet "Ammericanize'."
Where it was they never told a philistine. The elect they informed
under the voice, as one might betray a bird's nest. It was but a step
from the crumbling Hotel St. Louis, and but another or so from the
spires of St. Louis Cathedral.
In it, at a round table, the joy-riders had passed the evening of their
holiday. As the cathedral clock struck nine they rose to part. At the
board Chester had sat next the same joy-mate allowed him all day in the
car. But with how reduced a share of her attention! Half of his own
he had had to give, at his other elbow, to her aunt Yvonne; half of
Aline's had gone to Dubroca. The other half into half of his was but
half a half and that had to be halved by a quarter coming from the two
nearest across the table, one of whom was Mlle. Corinne, whose queries
always required thought.
"Mr. Chezter," she said, when the purchase of an evening paper had made
the great over-seas strife the general theme, "can you egsplain me why
they don' stop that war, when 'tis calculate' to projuce so much hard
feeling?"
Explaining as best he could without previous research, Chester had
turned again to Mlle. Yvonne to let her finish telling--inspire'd by an
incoming course of the menu--of those happy childhood days when she and
her sister and the unfortunate gentleman from whom they had bought
Aline's manuscript went crayfishing in Elysian Fields street canal,
always taking the dolls along, "so not to leave them lonesome"; how the
dolls had visibly enjoyed the capture of each crayfish; and how she and
Corinne and the dolls would delight in the same sport to-day, but,
alas! "that can-al was fil' op! and tha'z another thing calculate' to
projuce hard feeling."
Through such riddles and reminiscences and his replies thereto
persistently ran Chester's uneasy question to himself: Why had Aline
told him that story of unnamable trouble which had goaded her to seek
the cloister? Why if not to warn him away from a sentiment which was
growing in him like a balloon and straining his heart-strings to hold
it to its proper moorings?
Now the two cars let out their passengers at the De l'Isle gates and at
the door of the Castanados. Madame of the latter name, with her spouse
heaving under one arm and Chester under the other, while Mme. Alexandre
pushed behind, was lifted to her parlor. Returning to the street,
Chester found the motors gone, MM. De l'Isle and Beloiseau gone with
them, and only the two Dubrocas, the three Chapdelaines, and Cupid
awaiting him.
And now, with Cupid leading, and sleeping as he led, and with a Dubroca
beside each aunt, and Aline and Chester following, this remnant of the
company approached the Conti Street corner, on the way to the
Chapdelaine home. At the turn----
"Mademoiselle," Chester asked in a desperation too much like hers
before the arch-bishop, "do you notice that, as the old hymn says, we
are treading where the saints have trod? _Your_ saints?"
"My--ah, yes, 'tis true. 'Tis here _grand'mère_----
"Turned that corner in her life where your _grandpère_ first saw her.
Al'--Aline."
"Mr. Chester?"
"I want this corner, from the day I first saw you turn it, to be all
that to you and me. Shall it not?"
She said nothing. Priceless moments glided by, each a dancing ghost.
Just there ahead in the dark was Bourbon Street, and a short way down
among its huddled shadows were her board fence and batten gate. It was
senseless to have taken this chance on so poor a margin of time, but
what's done's done! "Oh, Aline Chapdelaine, say it shall be! Say it,
Aline, say it!"
"Mr. Chester, it is impossible! Impossible!"
"It is not! It's the only right thing! It shall be, Aline, it shall
be!"
"No, Mr. Chester, 'tis impossible. You must not ask me why, but 'tis
impossible!"
"It isn't! Aline, and I ask no why. I see the trouble. It's your
aunts. Why, I'll take them with you, _of course_! I'll take them into
my care and love as you have them in yours, and keep them there while
they and I live. I can do it, I've got the wherewithal! Things have
happened to me fast since I first saw you turn that corner behind us.
I've inherited property, and only yesterday I was taken into one of the
best law firms in the city. I'll prove all that to you and your aunts
to-morrow. Aline, unspeakable treasure, you shall not live the
buried-alive life in which you are trying to believe yourself rightly
placed and happy, my saint! My--adored--_saint_!"
"Yes, I must. What you ask is impossible."