would never marry Elise Koller. Even though his eyes were opened now to the fact that he was virtually a ruined man, there was no longer any chance that the baser part of him would succumb to that temptation.
It was pleasant—especially the Colonel's jolly company, to say nothing of Petrarch's, who highly approved of Pembroke, and remarked as he industriously brushed his clothes on the last night, "I clar, Marse French, you sutny do favor yo' par. I 'member de time he made that argyument when Marse Jack Thornton, he mos' kilt Marse Spott Randolph on 'count o' Miss Tilly Corbin. We had ole wuks dat time. 'Twuz when me an' Marse was co'tin' missis. I tell yo' par, 'A eye fur a eye,' 'a toof fur a toof, an' I will resist de cripplers, say de Lord.' Marster an' me went to de cote house ter hear him. I tho't 'bout it de yether night, when de white folks was a crowdin' 'roun' an' shakin' yo' han' an' clappin' you on de back. Arter you went up st'yars, Miss Livy, she come an' say to me, 'Petrarch, did you hear de speech?' I say, 'Lord, honey, dat I did. You jes' oughter seen de folks whoopin' an' hollerin' and Marse French he stannin' up, lookin' handsome like he mar'—you aint forgit yo' mar, has you, Marse French?"
"No," said Pembroke.
"I reklecks her when she warn't no older 'n Miss Livy. She was kinder light on her feet like Miss Livy, and she had dem shinin' eyes, an dat ar way Miss Livy got o' larfin' at yer. She an' mistis' was
