of Margaret's mood, as a dark mountain lake reflects the image of the maiden moon. When Robert was sure that Margaret was out of ear-shot, he said in a low voice—
"I say, Philip, what does Atalanta mean, anyhow?"
The young physician smiled, and answered, in a tone not quite free from irony—
"My dear fellow, that's a difficult question. It has puzzled wiser people than you or me. The story goes that many a poor fellow lost his head, in more ways than one, in trying to find out what Atalanta did mean. It's a riddle. Give it up—that 's my advice."
"I never was good at riddles," Robert answered gravely, not without a suspicion that his friend was laughing at him. Philip saw this in his face; and repenting his first impulse to chaff his less erudite friend, was about to enlighten him on the subject of Atalanta's identity, when Robert cried out, "Good-by, Rondelet, I see she is ready;" and waving his hand to Philip, he ran to meet Margaret, who at that moment appeared on the gallery. Without a word of farewell, Margaret turned, and in a joyous mood sprang down the garden path, with Robert at her side. The iron wicket shut behind them with a sharp snap, and Rondelet was left alone. As he walked toward the house, he heard a shrill cry of grief. General Jackson had broken his bird's nest, and was shrieking inconsolably.
"Bring it here, my boy; I will mend it for you," said Philip. Taking up a morsel of wet clay, he repaired the toy; and warning the child not to play with it till the sun had hardened it, he turned into the house to seek for General Ruysdale.
CHAPTER IV.
Rondelet found General Ruysdale sitting on the shaded porch, watching a passing procession. The elder man greeted him pleasantly, saying—
"Ah, Rondelet, I was hoping to see you to-day! Do you know we have been in this house just sixty days, and in that time seventy-nine processions have passed before this door?"
"Yes, we are fond of parades here."
"It is such an extravagance. How much better to expend the money devoted to paying those marching musicians in improving the city and carrying on the public charitable institutions, which seem to depend mainly upon private subscription."
"I am not sure about that," Rondelet objected. "It is a great gain to keep the people amused and good-natured. What should we be without our gayety and good-humor? Remember how little we have, poverty-stricken as we are. As to the charities, I hold that the rich and poor are brought in nearer and closer sympathy when they are directly dependent upon each other. It makes the wealthy realize their duty to the poor, and the poor look less bitterly upon a rich class that directly confers benefits upon them. State charities are such cold, impersonal things. You rich people at the North pay taxes to support your sick and blind because your State forces you to do it, and you avoid them as much as you can."
The New Englander, high in office over the charities of his native town, stared at the speaker, and made an effort to protest against these heretical remarks. But Rondelet continued—
"You think us behind the world in every way, behind the North particularly. Well, perhaps we are; but the social atmosphere which your condition of things has brought about is not without its drawbacks. The aristocracy of money, which rules your society with a golden rod, is not, to my mind, a noble or great phase of human existence. You are now suffering from a very plethora of money, a terrible indigestion from too much high living, while we are growing day by day weaker and weaker from inanition; and yet you would have us call you brothers! Our country is one now, and I hope and believe will ever remain so; but the country cannot march as it should in the progress of nations while one foot is bare, lame, and blistered. It is strange that you forget us so; our interests are bound up with yours, there is no separating them. That has been proved, and the proof was a grave one, as you who shed your blood, as I who lost my patrimony in the awful proving, know full well."
"But you brought it on yourselves, after all. As you made your bed, so must you lie on it. Can a parent love the child that has turned and struck at her life, as she does the one that gave his own to defend it?"
"Do you remember the parable of the prodigal son? Methinks that the husks have been fed to us too long, and that, despite the well-fed elder brother, the fatted calf should be slain. But, General, I did not come to talk politics with you, sir, but to take my revenge for my defeat of last evening. Are you in the mood for a game of chess?"
It was as well that Rondelet had turned the conversation, as it might soon have become a heated one. The bitterness which had crept into his voice was most unusual with him. In all his intercourse with the old officer, he had never shown the feeling he had just expressed. It is not improbable that this state of mind was produced by what had gone before in the studio. The General was too well-bred a man not to abandon the topic, though it cost him something of a struggle to do so. He was one of those natural fighters, to whom a contest of words is next best to that of arms.
"I will play a game of chess with pleasure," he answered. "There is one thing I wish to speak to you about first, Rondelet; it is about the killing of young Fernand Thoron. Have you heard of any new developments in the case?"
The General watched the young physician keenly as he spoke. Philip's color changed as he answered, in a low, constrained voice—
"No, I have heard nothing."
"They were talking about it at the club last night; no one told you of that?"
"No."
"I think you ought to know," said the General, speaking slowly and impressively, "what was said—whispered, rather, for I do not know how the rumor started, or even how it reached my ears; but it was suggested by some one that you knew something about that affair."
It had come at last, the vague report of that wild night, nearly two months ago. He straightened himself where he stood, as if to brace himself against another shock. But the General said nothing more, and evidently waited for an answer. It came slowly.
"I never to my knowledge saw the man you speak of. I remember hearing of his sudden death at the time, and that a theory of suicide was very generally accepted. Did you know him? What did he look like?"
"I had seen him once only. He was a fine-looking fellow and quite young. Margaret had met him, and he brought his mastiff, Launce, a fine dog, for her to model in her Atalanta. She was much shocked to hear of his death three days after."
"His mastiff Launce, a fine dog," these words sounded dimly in Rondelet's ears. They settled the question which had so long tormented him as to the identity of Fernand Thoron and the youth he had seen die in the hut near the duelling ground. He had avoided seeking the solution of the mystery, remembering Jean's words, "It is better for you that you should not know;" but now the knowledge was forced upon him, and with it a sense of the suspicion with which he was regarded. The General's eyes were still fixed upon Rondelet inquiringly, but he had nothing more to say.
"Shall we have our game?"
"Certainly," said the General, placing the men upon the board; and the battle began.
At the moment when the two gentlemen were arranging their chessmen, Margaret and Robert entered the Fair Grounds. The scene that met their eyes was an animated one. A vast crowd of gayly dressed people filled the large enclosure, where numbers of booths and ornamented tents flaunted their banners and streamers in the evening air. Here a band of fortune-tellers professed to predict the future of young men and maidens for a small compensation. These gypsy folk had established themselves at the foot of a giant live-oak, whose wide-spreading arms served to shelter them from the rays of the afternoon sun.
A girl tricked out with tinsel and mock jewels beckoned to Margaret and Robert, and with a bold smile dropped them a courtesy and invited them to approach and have their fortune told; but the two passed on unheeding. A wonderful glittering palace, with a retinue of beasts, next attracted their attention—a pair of elephants, followed by twin ostriches, with dolphins, giraffes, deer, winged horses, goats, unicorns, half the animals of history and fable, slowly gyrating to the strains of