Early one day some two weeks after the foregoing incident the young lawyer came out of his pension francaise, opposite his office, and stood a moment in thought. In those two weeks he had not again seen Mr. Castanado.  
Once more it was scant¹ half past eight. He looked across to the windows of his office and of one bare third-story sleeping-room over it. Eloquent² windows! Their meanness reminded him anew how definitely he had chosen not merely the simple but the solitary³ life. Yet now he turned toward Royal Street. But at the third or fourth step he faced about toward Chartres. The distance to the courthouse was the same either way, and its entrances were alike on both streets.
 
Thought he as he went the Chartres Street way: "If I go one more time by way of Royal I shall owe an abject⁴ apology, and yet to try to offer it would only make the matter worse."
 
He went grimly, glad to pay this homage⁵ of avoidance which would have been more to his credit paid a week or so earlier. His frequent failure to pay it had won him, each time, a glimpse of her and an itching⁶ fear that prying⁷ eyes were on him inside other balconied windows besides those of the unslender Mme. Castanado.
 
Temptation is a sly witch. Down at Conti Street, on the court-house's upper riverside corner, he paused to take in the charm of one of the most picturesque⁸ groups of old buildings in the vieux carré. But there, to gather in all the effect, one must turn, sooner or later, and include the upper side of Conti Street from Chartres to Royal; and as Chester did so, yonder, once more, coming from Bourbon and turning from Conti into Royal, there she was again, the avoided one!
 
Her black cupid was at her side, tiny even for nine years. They disappeared conversing⁹ together. With his heart in his throat Chester turned away, resumed his walk, and passed into the marble halls where justice dreamt she dwelt. Up and down one of these, little traversed so early, he paced, with a question burning in his breast, which every new sigh of mortification¹⁰ fanned hotter: Had she seen him?--this time? those other times? And did those Castanados suspect? Was that why Mme. Castanado had the grippe, and the manuscript was yet unread?
 
A voice spoke¹¹ his name and he found himself facing the very black dealer¹² in second-hand¹³ books.
 
"I was yonder at Toulouse Street," said Ovide Landry, "coming up-town, when I saw you at Conti coming down. I have another map of the old city for you. At that rate, Mr. Chester, you'll soon have as good a collection as the best."
 
The young man was pleased: "Does it show exactly where Maspero's Exchange stood?" he asked.
 
Ovide said come to the shop and see.
 
"I will, to-day; at six." Another man came up, "Ah, Mr. Castanado! How--how is your patient?"
 
"Madame"--the costumer smiled happily--"is once more well. I was looking for you. You didn't pass in Royal Street this morning."
 
[Ah, those eyes behind those windows behind those balconies!]
 
"No, I--oh! going, Landry? Good day. No, Mr. Castanado, I----"
 
"Madame hopes Mr. Chezter can at last, this evening, come at home for that reading."
 
"Mr. Castanado, I can't! I'm mighty¹⁴ sorry! My whole evening's engaged. So is to-morrow's. May I come the next evening after? . . . Thank you. . . . Yes, at seven. Just the three of us, of course? Yes."