tation, and it was late when they separated for the night. Philip was in no mood for sleep. He strolled down to the levee to smoke a cigar and watch a certain window where a light still burned. Across the white curtain a shadow passed, vague yet graceful in its movements. He stood with folded arms watching that small square of light as intently as if a momentous issue hung upon the reappearance of the shadow.
It passed again, this time more clearly defined. He could trace the rounded outline of the bare shoulders and the wavy sweep of unbound tresses floating far below the waist. And then with a burning blush he turned away, the feeling of a shamed Acteon in his heart. He had been too much absorbed to notice the approach of a huge, shambling fellow, who came slouching up to him and touched him on the shoulder.
"Marse Philip."
"Hero, is that you? What are you doing here at this time of night?"
"It 's a fine evening, Marse Philip."
Philip nodded silently, keeping his back resolutely turned to the house.
"Never see the stars brighter," Hero continued.
He evidently had something to say, and Rondelet waited till he should gain time to shape his thoughts.
