But you an' me has planned too long to let him step in now an' take things out of our hands. He's too reckless; we wouldn't move fast enough to suit him, an'--he'd make us trouble."

"Yes," a.s.sented the old man, "he'd have things his own way, or he'd make us trouble; he always did."

Mamma arose, stirred the smouldering fire, and resuming her seat, began afresh:

"Now, then, we've got to decide about that gal. She can't go to no hospital?"

"No; she can't."

"And she can't stay with us. It was a big risk before; now that Franzy is back, it's a bigger risk."

"That's so." Papa wrinkled his brows for a moment and then said: "See here, old woman, Franz'll be bound ter know something about that gal when he gits his head clear."

"I s'pose so."

"Well, s'pose we tell him about her."

"What for?"

"Ter satisfy him, an' ter git his help."

"His help?" muttered Mamma. "That might do."

Suddenly Papa lifted a warning finger. "Hush," he whispered; "there's somebody outside o' that door."

A low, firm knock put a period to his sentence. Mamma made a sign which meant caution, and then creeping noiselessly to the door, listened. No sound could be heard from without, and after another moment of waiting she called sharply:

"Who's there?"

"Open de do'; I's got a message fo' yo'."

The voice, and the unmistakable African dialect, rea.s.sured the pair, whose only dread was the police; and to barricade their doors against chance visitors was no part of the Francoise policy.

Mamma glided toward the pallet where lay her returned Prodigal, and bent above him.

His face was turned outward toward the door, and putting two strong hands beneath his shoulders, she applied her strength to the task of rolling him over, drew a ragged blanket well up about him, and left him lying thus, his face to the wall and completely hidden from whoever might enter.

Then she went boldly to the door, and opening it wide, stood face to face with a tall African, black as ebony, and wearing a fine suit of broadcloth, poorly concealed underneath a shabby outer garment. He bowed to Mamma as obsequiously as if she were a d.u.c.h.ess, and this garret her drawing-room, and stepping inside, closed the door behind him.

"You will excuse me," he said, politely, "but my business is private, and some one might come up the stairs."

"What do you want?"

The incautious words were uttered by Papa Francoise, who, noting the entire absence of his negro accent, arose hastily, his face full of alarm.

The African smiled blandly.

"I a.s.sumed my accent in order to rea.s.sure you, sir," he said, coolly.

"You might not have admitted me if you had thought me a white man, and I am sent by your patron."

"By our patron!" Mamma echoed his words in skeptical surprise.

"Yes; I am his servant."

Papa and Mamma gazed at each other blankly and drew nearer together.

"He has sent you this note," pursued the nonchalant fellow, keeping his eyes fixed upon Mamma's face while he drew from his pocket a folded paper. "And I am to take your answer."

Papa took the proffered note reluctantly, glanced at the superscription, and suddenly changed his manner.

"That is not directed to me," he cried, sharply. "You have made a mistake."

"It is directed to Papa Francoise."

Papa peered closer at the superscription. "Yes; I think that's it. It's not my name; it's not for me."

"My dear sir, I know you too well. You need not fear me; I am Mr.

Warburton's body servant."

"Oh!" Mamma uttered the syllable sharply, then suddenly restrained herself, and coming toward the messenger with cat-like tread, she said, coaxingly: "And who may this Mr. War--war, this master of yours be?"

The man looked from one to the other, and then turned his gaze upon the occupants of the two pallets. "Who are these?" he asked, briefly.

Mamma's answer came very promptly.

"Only two poor people we knew in another part of the city. They have been turned out by their landlord, poor things, and last night they slept in the street."

A smile crossed the face of the wily African, and he turned toward Papa.

"Read my master's note, if you please," he said. "It was written to _you_."

Slowly Papa unfolded the note, and his eyes seemed bursting from their sockets as he read.

Name your price, but keep your whereabouts from the police. If you are called upon to identify me, _you do not know me_.

While Papa reads, the slumbering Franz begins to move and to mutter.

"Give me the file, Jim," he says, in a low, cautious tone. "Curse the darbies--I--"

The sudden overturning of a stool, caused by a quick backward movement on the part of Mamma, drowns the rest of this muttered speech.

But the words have caught the ear of the colored gentleman, who moves a pace nearer the sleeper, and seems anxious to hear more.

While Papa still stares at the note in his hand, Mamma stoops and restores the stool to its upright position, making even more noise than in the overturning. And Franz turns, yawns, stretches, and slowly brings himself to a sitting posture.

Something like a frown crosses the dark face of Papa Francoise's visitor. To bring himself face to face with Papa, and to satisfy himself on certain doubtful points, he has paused for neither food nor rest, but has followed up his discovery of the morning, by an evening's visit to the new lurking-place of the Francoises,--for the sable gentleman, who would fain win the confidence of Papa in the character of body servant to Alan Warburton, is none other than Van Vernet.