THE EQUINOX
“Went to Scotland—he could get no more whisky here
on credit.”
“ His wife?”
“ Poor girl! poor girl!”
“Ah! it was bound to happen. And Bubu Tire-
Cravat
?”
Frédéric brought the edge of his hand down smartly on
the table, with a laugh.
“He had made so many widows, it was only fair he
should marry one!” commented the Englishman. “And
Pea-shooter Charley?”
“Don’t know. I think he is in prison in England.”
“Well, well; it saddens. ‘Where are the snows of yester-
year?’ I must have an absinthe; I feel old.”
“You are half my years,” answered Frédéric. “ But come!
If yesteryear be past, it is this year now. And all these
distinguished persons who are gone, together are not worth
one silver shoe-buckle of yonder——” Frédéric nodded
towards the old beau.
“True, I never knew him; yet he looks as if he had sat
there since Sedan. Who is he?”
“We do not know his name, monsieur,” said Frédéric
softly, a little awed; “ but I think he was a duke, a prince—I
cannot say what. He is more than that—he is unique, He
is—le Revenant de la Rue des Quatre Vents!”
“The Ghost of the Street of the Four Winds?”
Roderic was immensely taken by the title ; a thousand fantastic
bases for the sobriquet jumped into his brain. Was the
Rue des Quatre Vents haunted by a ghost in his image?
There are no ghosts in practical Paris. But of all the ideas
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