enough to upbraid her for taking what seems to have been hers by a divine right which it needs no Grotius or Puffendorf to maintain.
Margaret is so absorbed in watching the entrance of Rex and Regina that she fails to hear a knock on the door of the loge. Philip answers it, and the door is thrown open, revealing a gentleman clad in silver and green scales, carrying over one arm a long spiral tail. He offers the other arm to Margaret, and she is made to under stand by signs that her presence is desired on the floor. The horrible, grinning countenance of this demon of the deep is belied by his gentle voice as he begs the young lady to accept a bracelet, which he clasps upon her arm, in memory of Comus. It is a light, delicate affair of no great value, but to the New England girl its acceptance seemed impossible.
"My dear young lady," said the mask, speaking always in French, "remember that you are not in Massachusetts, but in Louisiana; and believe me, I am quite old enough to be your grandfather."
"He may have been a truthful demon," Margaret always said, "but he did not dance like a grandfather."
It was all very gay and very brilliant; but the scene jarred on the nerves of Philip Rondelet, who, busy with thoughts unsuited to such an
