once

was asked to work, he is now allowed to rest.

"I said 'idler,' but a man isn't so unemployed, perhaps, even when walking about. He observes, he thinks, he meditates. He does nothing according to the loud world, but maybe he was never so well engaged. But when are you coming to see me," he said, breaking off. "You're not retired, I know, but, then, you're not a man of business and ought to have some hours of leisure. We don't disagree in everything and ought to visit oftener."

Pere Lamereaux was glad to hear Cassierre speak like this. He could not set a time, but this was immaterial if he were willing to run his chance of finding Cassierre out after going to the trouble of calling to see him. But this chance was not great, for Cassierre was generally in his house or in his garden.

The moon had arisen with remarkable beauty, but was now entering and emerging from dark, flying clouds that threatened rain. A cool, light breeze stirred the branches and soon there was a clatter of drops on the leaves. Cassierre and Lamereaux were reluctant to part, for they had not met for some time and the air was refreshing. But the branches continued to stir and the drops to fall, and the moon, dimmer looking and wet, appeared at less frequent intervals.

This, however, was no fitful caprice of the night. A shower of some duration and magnitude was coming.

They said "au revoir;" they parted. Just then a gush of wind brought heavier and more numerous drops of rain; just then Pere Lamereaux heard a voice say, "For Christ's sake!" He was in the shadow of a great tree, while Cassierre was beneath an arc lamp. Lamereaux watched; the rich man hesitated. The girl was asking alms. She said, "For Christ's sake!"

"But why for 'Christ's sake?'" asked Cassierre.

"For He is King," she said, "for He is King; for He alone can reward the charitable."

In spite of himself, tears came into the rich man's eyes. They overflowed and fell on his cheek. They were as large as the rain-drops that struck the pavement at his feet. He drew his hand from his pocket; it contained a purse. He removed his outer coat and put it on the beggar girl. She turned about to go, as the rain beat heavily in her face, and said, "And I will pray for you."

Cass erre thoughtfully and sorrowfully walked away. He would be drenched in spite of the shady avenue through which he would have to pass. Pere Lamereaux would also be drenched, for he wore nothing but his soutane. He hurried along. He was just from a waking dream and it was good. Or was it a life play's moving scene? The Jesuit was overjoyed. "Cassierre is saved!" he exclaimed as he went "Cassierre is saved!"

III

The rich man was met at the door by his withered old housekeeper. The rain was falling with the effect of a cloudburst. The old woman stood on the wide veranda. She saw her great man without the coat he wore when he went out earlier in the afternoon. She clapped her hands in consternation, but Cassierre only laughed. "Hurry," she cried, but the millionaire, who could not

be wetter, looked up at the sky, waved his hand deprecatingly and continued as leisurely as ever.

"Where is it?" she inquired excitedly. "Robbers," he said, resignedly, but with disturbing conciseness.

The old woman opened her mouth until her face almost disappeared. Her chest rose rapidly. She was getting ready to send forth a scream to arouse all Paris.

"Hush," said Cassierre in anticipation, and hurrying up and laughing. "Be still. It's all right."

"All right to be stripped in the street on such a wild night!" she said. "Well, well, a new code surely! They were satisfied with the purse alone in my day, but now they must have the wardrobe also. I'm surprised you have a hat, M. Cassierre, and shoes and trousers!"

"Who said anything about a purse?" said Cassierre laughing.

"That's inferred," said the old woman, in more natural tones. "The artist of darkness doesn't take a coat and leave that little leather receptacle conveniently carried for coin. Oh, no! I never had any experience in this line, but I read the papers. And this all comes of your going to this play that you call 'Paris.' Hurry in, remove your clothes, take a bath and go to bed. I'll straightway order hot drinks to drive out the chill and make you feel like yourself again."

"I'll change my clothes, of course, for I intend to watch the rain out from the veranda. And I'll smoke a cigar while I also watch the lightning shoot over the city. Never mind the cognac. It would only counteract the delightful cooling imparted during my walk. Though a republican, I believe in reigns (rains)," continued Cassierre jokingly, "and especially during summer. They are good for animal and vegetable kingdom alike."

"Well, it's nice to be so rich that even robbers can leave us in a joking mood,"

said the over-indulged old woman as she walked away. "Very nice! And nice to be so warm-blooded that even a cold rain can make no disagreeable difference in one's temperature. Pretty, very pretty! Good for man, beast, and creeping vines alike. Good! The world is changing surely. This must be a new rain from the laboratory of the University. Nothing is as it used to be; all is change-mutability-as the professors would say. Death, too, may be dispensed with, in time, at the rate they're going, or agreeably modified at least. Pretty good! If-but, well, never mind," she said as she walked away in one of her sulks, "I'll say no more. Maybe colds, fevers, etc., are still realities. Maybe I'll be ordering the servants to bring up hot sling yet."

With this the old woman went to her room, hoping Cassierre would be sick. for, venturing to crack a joke after being. out in such a storm,-hoping he'd be sick, but still breaking her heart if it prove to be serious.

Cassierre walked as he said he would, peering into the darkness, smoking a couple of expensive cigars and listening to the rain. The shower continued for some time without any abatement. The thunder rolled with stunning effect, beginning in the distance, rolling over the city and ending in the distance. The lightning seemed to out-do itself, now passing so quickly that the eye could not follow, now fixing its wild, forked course for almost a second. Then it played softly away near the sky-line. The heavens seemed to have spent themselves.

It took on new force again, running to the zenith point and falling with ominous glare. Once more this light, this bluish streak of mysterious force, came like a demon from his hiding-place, tore to the earth, encircled the watcher, struck a tree by the main walk, which fell with a crash.

Cassierre, half-blinded and terrified, fell back and took refuge in the house. How near to death! he thought. How like a devil was that light! But why should he fear? Why retreat? Should he not be at home in the presence of all such phenomena? This was naturethis was God. But could he pray to this, or was there a personality apart? Tremblingly he went to his room. For the first time in his life he had feared. But it was not the fear of death. It was an involuntary admission and dread of the supernatural.

Cassierre felt chilled just before he retired. A damp, and peculiar sensation ran through him, and once or twice he shook perceptibly and audibly. He would now have taken a hot bath and have called for hot drinks-and all on account of this young summer night's rain, but for the thought of Madame. Hyacinthe. It would give her ground for innumerable lectures in the future. It would all end in a slight cold and nothing more. He would keep to his chamber as much as possible without exciting suspicion and say nothing about it. Madame Hyacinthe was an old woman and all that, but she had a little wit and an unanswerable sarcasm.

The millionaire immediately went to sleep, but he was uneasy. He pitched He pitched and tossed and talked in his dreams. He was being interviewed by somebody. He made an argument and spoke excitedly. He rested on his elbow, falling, at the conclusion of his speech, back on his pillow. He said "Good evening," to Pere Lamereaux. He made a gesture and smiled. He muttered incoherently. Then he spoke audibly. "For Christ's sake!" he said, and started up as he quoted the beggar girl. He stretched forth his hand and sighed. His face was sad.

When Cassierre awoke in the morning he was tired. He had walked and talked

much on the day previous, and almost repeated everything in the night just past. But he was more than tired. He had a fever-he was sick. After mentally passing upon his own case, he was saluted by his housekeeper, who asked, in one of her peculiar tones, if he would not have the doctor with his coffee this morning. Cassierre laughed goodnaturedly and said he would. Madame Hyacinthe went out and ordered a light breakfast. In half an hour she returned.

"Did M. Cassierre say he wanted the doctor, too," she asked, quite doubtingly. "Yes," said the millionaire, "I'm not feeling well and may be sick." "Then it's all to be upset?" she said. "What?" inquired Cassierre. "Your death and sepulture." Cassierre laughed, in spite of a disagreeable sensation in his chest.

"Yes, after buying your coffin and catching a cold, I thought you couldn't be more logical and consistent than to die and be buried."

The old woman wore an alarmed look, but pretended to be sorry as the prospects of a funeral reached the vanishing point. Then she walked leisurely, indifferently, from the room; but once out of Cassierre's sight, she took strides like those told about in "The Seven League Boots" and gave every servant on the premises an order to call for the doctor. The doctor, though hastily summoned, was not easily had. There were other patients and other urgent calls. But the one in question was M. Cassierre's regular medical adviser and the rich man would have no other. The morning passed, also the afternoon, and the evening was well spent before the doctor arrived. The patient, who seemed to have nothing more than a cold in the morning, was a very sick man at night. He was all choked up, his fever was high, and he spoke with difficulty.

The sick man heard Madame Hyacinthe scolding the doctor down-stairs.

but he could say nothing. When the physician entered his room, he waved his hand, as if to say, "Pay no attention." But the injunction was not necessary. Cassierre, once seen, took up Foras' complete attention and the old woman was speedily forgotten.

"As soon as possible," said Foras, with reference to his coming.

"I know," said Cassierre.
"How did this happen?"
"The rain," said the rich man.
"What? Since yesterday?"
Cassierre nodded.

"That's right, speak as little as possible; but I had to ask the question."

His pulse was high, his fever raging. Foras sounded his chest and listened to his lung action. Respiration was difficult and irregular. Cassierre, though short, was stout and heavy and Foras feared pneumonia. He must guard his heart yet give him powerful treatment. He commenced right away and stayed far into the night, leaving only as a nurse of his special recommendation arrived and took charge of the patient.

The coffin that Cassierre purchased not long since was placed in this bedchamber. Foras, like others, had heard of the purchase, but this strange piece of furniture escaped the doctor's attention as he entered. It was not until he was going until he knocked agains: itthat he saw it. It was the unexpected. He started, was embarrassed. Cassierre's coffin, sure enough. It was open and ready. It was like some silent but conscious spectator.. It seemed ominous. Foras shivered. After giving very minute directions he left, saying he would be at the bedside again the first thing in the morning.

Cassierre slept for a part of the night, then woke in delirium. But he would not be violent; he would simply talk, and this by fits and starts. Cassierre spoke vaguely of religion. The nurse

knew Cassierre by reputation. When the sick man spoke of the Cure, the nurse took this to mean that the millionaire was delirious. This was a sure sign. "Be sure and have Pere Lamereaux come," he said.

The nurse nodded.

"Be sure and have him come," he said again, and repeated the instruction a few minutes later.

"Men from the University?" he inquired. "Bah!" he replied to his own question. "Pretence, sham and delusion. Empty forms, learned words that teach us nothing. What fools!" he said. in conclusion.

As he spoke, he raised on his arm, and when he had finished, fell back exhausted. The nurse administered more medicine and he slept again. The doctor came the next day-the next day— and the day following. Cassierre, though still sick, was a little better. All that medical science could do was done. All that nursing ever did in other and similar cases was being repeated.

At the end of ten days Cassierre was pronounced out of danger. He was allowed to get up, but was warned about drafts. He could walk a little but he must often sit down. He must not、 hurry; he must wait. Comparatively speaking, he was well, but he was not strong. His face was not so full-and so pale! His eyes were now black as jet in comparison. He was lighter by many pounds and his movements indicated a greatly reduced condition.

In time Cassierre received callers, but his old intimates who came confessed that he was not himself as yet. Once pleasant and talkative, he was now morose and taciturn. He scarcely smiled at the pleasantest play of wit in others and no longer passed the "bon mot" himself. "M. Cassierre needs a week or more," was the general opinion among his friends, and they kindly waited.

Free from callers, Cassierre walked in his garden and basked in the sun. This man, once sociable, now cultivated solitude; he liked to be alone. He used to sit on a bench where the sun fell gently through the trees and by a fountain. He would sit for hours with his face steadfast. Then he would take a turn on the walks, followed by a hound, once frolicsome but now sad as its master.

As Cassierre turned into one of these walks one evening, he saw a man enter by one of the lower garden gates and saunter easily along. He was tall, dressed in sombre black and walked

with a cane.

Cassierre thought he recognized the figure and walked with his usual pace over the path of his visitor's approach. They met in a retired and shady portion of the path and for the first time in a fortnight the rich man seemed himself again. He smiled his usual good-natured smile and stretched forth his hand. Pere Lamereaux had come at last to see him.

The Cure's visit had a good effect on the infidel and they walked and talked until evening and the millionaire seemed well again. After talking over many things, in which the Jesuit was surprised at the agreeable sentiments of his old. schoolmate, Cassierre said:

"Etienne, this, your first visit, is timely, and your entrance through the lower gate prompts me to a little plot." The Cure looked surprised.

"Madame Hyacinth went out the main gate as you would have entered it had you continued on. I said I would not dine this evening, and about every servant seems to be taking a holiday. The sun is set, so we will go to the house. We will not be seen-and this suits my purpose. Not that I'm ashamed of your company," he said, with a laugh, as he noticed the puzzled look on the priest's face. "No-no-but I've something on hand and you'll soon know my meaning."

They entered the house and did so unnoticed. They went into a sort of drawing-room and study, and Cassierre, that they might not be taken by surprise, turned keys in two doors.

"I once told Courdet," he said, taking a seat by a center-table, "what I thought would be a very novel and at very safe way of disposing of my property. I said I would make no will, for wills are too easily broken. I conceived the idea of realizing on my property; of converting it into money. In fact, this I have already done, with the exception of the house I now occupy. I'll let this stand, leaving those have it who will. When I spoke of making this disposition while still enjoying life, I said I would give all to the College of France for the perfection of history and the advancement of science. Well, I have changed my mind-for I have changed my faithor rather have returned to that in which I was born and was once so happy.

"This necessitates a change of plans. Instead of giving my fortune to the College of France, I will give it to you, or rather through you to religion and charity. I'm 'compos mentis' and have the right, I think, to give what I own to whomsoever I please. I dare not will— I dare not put anything on paper. In such an event you know what would follow. A suit at law-and my wealth to the four winds. Still, in giving to you, I must have a condition. It must be a secret. Are you willing to comply?"

Pere Lamereaux was so taken by surprise that he hardly knew what to say. He thought little of the money, great as was the gift of the millionaire. But the thought that Cassierre was converted made his heart leap with joy. Then he came to the condition. It might produce embarrassing circumstances. What if it should become known? He would be the center of all eyes, and there would be rumors and stories and a bitter liti