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Louisette, the orphan, the girl-lover, whom everyone in Franklin knew would some day be Ma'am Mouton's daughter-in-law, wept and pleaded in vain. Sylves' kissed her quivering lips. "Ma chere," he would say, "t'ink, I will bring you one fine diamon' ring, nex' spring, when de bayou overflows again." Louisette would fain be content with this promise.
Louisette was sad, Ma'am Mouton sighed now and then, Sylves' was constrained. "Maman," he said at length, "I am goin' away." Ma'am Mouton dropped her fork and stared at him with unseeing eyes; then, as she comprehended his remark, she put her hand out to him with a pitiful gesture. "Sylves'!" cried Louisette, springing to her feet.
Even as she spoke a quick nervous step was heard crunching up the brick walk. Sylves' paused an instant without the kitchen door, his face turned to the setting sun. He was tall and slim and agile; a true 'cajan. "Bon jour, Louisette," he laughed. "Eh, maman!" "Ah, my son, you are ver' late." Sylves' frowned, but said nothing. It was a silent supper that followed.
Next week there was another letter, even more wonderful than the first. Sylves' had found work. He was making cigars, and was earning two dollars a day. Such wages! Ma'am Mouton and Louisette began to plan pretty things for the brown cottage on the Teche. That was a pleasant winter, after all. True, there was no Sylves', but then he was always in New Orleans for a few months any way.
As for Ma'am Mouton, she seemed to have grown ages older. Her Sylves' was going from her; Sylves', whose trips to New Orleans had been a yearly source of heart-break, was going far away for months to that mistily wicked city, a thousand miles away. October came, and Sylves' had gone.
"Citizen Fusilier," he said, looking first down at the floor and then up into the inquirer's face, "on my assurance that he is not only a native Creole, but a Grandissime " "It is not possible!" exclaimed Agricola. " a Grandissime of the purest blood, will you pledge me your aid to liberate him from his danger, 'right or wrong'?" "Will I? H-why, certainly! Who is he?" "Citizen it is Sylves "
Louisette's eyes danced, and her lips were red and tempting. Ma'am Mouton's face relaxed as the small brown hands relieved hers of their burden. "Sylves', has he come yet?" asked the red mouth. "Mais non, ma chere," said Ma'am Mouton, sadly, "I can' tell fo' w'y he no come home soon dese day. Ah me, I feel lak' somet'ing goin' happen. He so strange."
The train rumbled in on the platform, and two pair of eyes opened wide for the first glimpse of Sylves'. The porter, all officiousness and brass buttons, bustled up to Ma'am Mouton. "This is Mrs. Mouton?" he inquired deferentially. Ma'am Mouton nodded, her heart sinking. "Where is Sylves'?" "He is here, madam." There appeared Joseph Lascaud, then some men bearing Something.
I am not so well, and Monsieur le docteur says it is well for me to go to the South again." Monsieur le docteur! Sylves' not well! The thought struck a chill to the hearts of Ma'am Mouton and Louisette, but not for long. Of course, Sylves' was not well, he needed some of maman's tisanes. Then he was homesick; it was to be expected. At last the great day came, Sylves' would be home.
Many were the Creole boys who had gone to Chicago to earn a living, for the cigar-making trade flourishes there wonderfully. Friends of Sylves' had gone, and written home glowing accounts of the money to be had almost for the asking.
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