To-morrow is the last night of the old year. The doctor
asked us to spend it with him. We refused. Providence directed that
refusal, for now we are at liberty to celebrate the proper occasion
for burying hatchets by burying our particular hatchet. The lady of the
feathers, your friend, my enemy, shall see the new year in here, in this
tentroom, where long ago we--you and I--with how ill success, sought to
exchange our souls."
Julian looked utterly astonished at this proposition.
"Cuckoo wouldn't come here," he began.
"So you said once before. But she came then, and she will come now."
"And then the doctor! If he gets to hear of it! We said we were dining
out."
Valentine's hard smile grew yet harder, and his eyes sparkled eagerly.
"I'll arrange that," he said. "The doctor shall come here too."
It seemed indeed as if he meant that his triumph should culminate on this
final night of the year, his year. He laughed Julian's astonishment at
this vagary aside, sat down and wrote the two notes of invitation, and
then went out with Julian, saying:
"Julian, come out with me. You remember what I said about the greedy man?
Come; Fate shall present you with another course, one more step towards
your _caf? noir_ and--happiness.
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