"Do we part here?" asked the Creole. "Well, Mr. Frowenfeld, I hope to meet you soon again."
"Indeed, I thank you, sir," said Joseph, "and I hope we shall, although--"
The Creole paused with a foot in the stirrup and interrupted him with a playful gesture; then as the horse stirred, he mounted and drew in the rein.
"I know; you want to say you cannot accept my philosophy and I cannot appreciate yours; but I appreciate it more than you think, my-de'-seh."
The convalescent's smile showed much fatigue.
The Creole extended his hand; the immigrant seized it, wished to ask his name, but did not; and the next moment he was gone.
The convalescent walked meditatively toward his quarters, with a faint feeling of having been found asleep on duty and awakened by a passing stranger. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he caught himself more than once shaking his head. He stopped, at length, and looked back; but the Creole was long since out of sight. The mortified self-accuser little knew how very similar a feeling that vanished person was carrying away with him. He turned and resumed his walk, wondering who Monsieur might be, and a little impatient with himself that he had not asked.
"It is Honoré Grandissime; it must be he!" he said.
Yet see how soon he felt obliged to change his mind.