years ago!"

His pen went faster and faster. His eyes lighted up, he seemed quite
forgetful of Medallion's presence. When he finished, a fresh change came
over him. He gathered his thin fingers in a bunch at his lips, and made
an airy salute to the warm space between the candles. He drew himself
together with a youthful air, and held his grey head gallantly. Youth
and age in him seemed almost grotesquely mingled. Sprightly notes from
the song of a cafe chantant hovered on his thin, dry lips. Medallion,
amused, yet with a hushed kind of feeling through all his nerves, pushed
the Avocat's tumbler till it touched his fingers. The thin fingers
twined round it, and once more he came to his feet. He raised the glass.
"To--" for a minute he got no further--"To the wedding-eve!" he said,
and sipped the hot wine. Presently he pushed the little well-worn book
over to Medallion. "I have known you fifteen years--read!" he said. He
gave Medallion a meaning look out of his now flashing eyes. Medallion's
bony face responded cordially. "Of course," he answered, picked up the
book, and read what the Avocat had written. It was on the last page.
When he had finished reading, he held the book musingly. His whim had
suddenly taken on a new colour. The Avocat, who had been walking up and
down the room, with the quick step of a young man, stopped before him,
took the book from him, turned to the first page, and handed it back
silently. Medallion read:

Quebec, September 13th, 18-. It is one year since. I shall learn to
laugh some day.

Medallion looked up at him. The old man threw back his head, spread out
the last page in the book which he had just written, and said defiantly,
as though expecting contradiction to his self-deception--"I have