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pretended that it was a very difficult matter to open it. Then he kept the hand in his. They seemed to forget about it. He played with her earring, a thin crescent of gold hanging from her small brown ear. He caught a wisp of the kinky hair that had escaped its fastening, and rubbed the ends of it against his shaven cheek.

“You know, last year in Assumption, Calixta?” They belonged to the younger generation, so preferred to speak English.

“Don’t come say Assumption to me, M’sieur AlcĂ©e. I done yeard Assumption till I’m plumb sick.”

“Yes, I know. The idiots! Because you were in Assumption, and I happened to go to Assumption, they must have it that we went together. But it was nice⁠—hein, Calixta?⁠—in Assumption?”

They saw BobinĂŽt emerge from the hall and stand a moment outside the lighted doorway, peering uneasily and searchingly into the darkness. He did not see them, and went slowly back.

“There is Bobinît looking for you. You are going to set poor Bobinît crazy. You’ll marry him some day; hein, Calixta?”

“I don’t say no, me,” she replied, striving to withdraw her hand, which he held more, firmly for the attempt.

“But come, Calixta; you know you said you would go back to Assumption, just to spite them.”

“No, I neva said that, me. You mus’ dreamt that.”

“Oh, I thought you did. You know I’m going down to the city.”

“W’en?”

“Tonight.”

“Betta make has’e, then; it’s mos’ day.”

“Well, tomorrow’ll do.”

“W’at you goin’ do, yonda?”

“I don’t know. Drown myself in the lake, maybe; unless you go down there to visit your uncle.”

Calixta’s senses were reeling; and they well-nigh left her when she felt AlcĂ©e’s lips brush her ear like the touch of a rose.

“Mista AlcĂ©e! Is dat Mista AlcĂ©e?” the thick voice of a negro was asking; he stood on the ground, holding to the banister-rails near which the couple sat.

“W’at do you want now?” cried AlcĂ©e impatiently. “Can’t I have a moment of peace?”

“I ben huntin’ you high an’ low, suh,” answered the man. “Dey⁠—dey someone in de road, onda de mulbare-tree, want see you a minute.”

“I wouldn’t go out to the road to see the Angel Gabriel. And if you come back here with any more talk, I’ll have to break your neck.” The negro turned mumbling away.

Alcée and Calixta laughed softly about it. Her boisterousness was all gone. They talked low, and laughed softly, as lovers do.

“AlcĂ©e! AlcĂ©e LaballiĂšre!”

It was not the negro’s voice this time; but one that went through AlcĂ©e’s body like an electric shock, bringing him to his feet.

Clarisse was standing there in her riding-habit, where the negro had stood. For an instant confusion reigned in AlcĂ©e’s thoughts, as with one who awakes suddenly from a dream. But he felt that something of serious import had brought his cousin to the ball in the dead of night.

“W’at does this mean, Clarisse?” he asked.

“It means something has happen’ at home. You mus’ come.”

“Happened to maman?” he questioned, in alarm.

“No; nĂ©naine is well, and asleep. It is something else. Not to frighten you. But you mus’ come. Come with me, AlcĂ©e.”

There was no need for the imploring note. He would have followed the voice anywhere.

She had now recognized the girl sitting back on the bench.

“Ah, c’est vous, Calixta? Comment ça va, mon enfant?”

“Tcha va b’en; et vous, mam’zĂ©lle?”

AlcĂ©e swung himself over the low rail and started to follow Clarisse, without a word, without a glance back at the girl. He had forgotten he was leaving her there. But Clarisse whispered something to him, and he turned back to say “Good night, Calixta,” and offer his hand to press through the railing. She pretended not to see it.

“How come that? You settin’ yere by yo’se’f, Calixta?” It was Bobinît who had found her there alone. The dancers had not yet come out. She looked ghastly in the faint, gray light struggling out of the east.

“Yes, that’s me. Go yonda in the parc aux petits an’ ask Aunt Olisse fu’ my hat. She knows w’ere ’t is. I want to go home, me.”

“How you came?”

“I come afoot, with the Cateaus. But I’m goin’ now. I ent goin’ wait fu’ ’em. I’m plumb we’ out, me.”

“Kin I go with you, Calixta?”

“I don’ care.”

They went together across the open prairie and along the edge of the fields, stumbling in the uncertain light. He told her to lift her dress that was getting wet and bedraggled; for she was pulling at the weeds and grasses with her hands.

“I don’ care; it’s got to go in the tub, anyway. You been sayin’ all along you want to marry me, Bobinît. Well, if you want, yet, I don’ care, me.”

The glow of a sudden and overwhelming happiness shone out in the brown, rugged face of the young Acadian. He could not speak, for very joy. It choked him.

“Oh well, if you don’ want,” snapped Calixta, flippantly, pretending to be piqued at his silence.

“Bon Dieu! You know that makes me crazy, w’at you sayin’. You mean that, Calixta? You ent goin’ turn roun’ agin?”

“I neva tole you that much yet, Bobinît. I mean that. Tiens,” and she held out her hand in the businesslike manner of a man who clinches a bargain with a handclasp. Bobinît grew bold with happiness and asked Calixta to kiss him. She turned her face, that was almost ugly after the night’s dissipation, and looked steadily into his.

“I don’ want to kiss you, BobinĂŽt,” she said, turning away again, “not today. Some other time. BontĂ© divine! ent you satisfy, yet!”

“Oh, I’m satisfy, Calixta,” he said.

Riding through a patch of wood, Clarisse’s saddle became ungirted, and she and AlcĂ©e dismounted to readjust it.

For the twentieth time he asked her what had happened at home.

“But, Clarisse, w’at is it? Is it a misfortune?”

“Ah Dieu sait! It’s only something that happen’ to me.”

“To you!”

“I saw you go away las’ night, AlcĂ©e, with those saddlebags,”

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