madame's heart into the dim chamber.

"_Ma Divine!_" came in counter-flash from the curtained bed.

In the old days women, or at least young girls, could hazard such pet
names one upon the other. These--think of it!--dated from the first
communion class, the dating period of so much of friendship.

"My poor Amour!"

"My poor, poor Divine!"

The voices were together, close beside the pillow.

"I--I--" began Divine.

"It could not have happened if God had not wished it," interrupted
poor Amour, with the resignation that comes, alas! only with the last
drop of the bitter cup.

And that was about all. If Mr. Horace had not slipped away, he might
have noticed the curious absence of monsieur's name, and of his own
name, in the murmuring that followed. It would have given him some
more ideas on the subject of woman.

At any rate, the good God must thank him for having one affair the
less to arrange when the trumpet sounds out there over the old St.
Louis cemetery. And he was none too premature; for the old St. Louis
cemetery, as was shortly enough proved, was a near reach for all three
of the old friends.