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Contents
Cover Page
About This eBook
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication Page
Contents at a Glance
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1. Pythonic Thinking
Item 1: Know Which Version of Python You’re Using
Item 2: Follow the PEP 8 Style Guide
Item 3: Know the Differences Between bytes and str
Item 4: Prefer Interpolated F-Strings Over C-style Format
Strings and str.format
Item 5: Write Helper Functions Instead of Complex
Expressions
Item 6: Prefer Multiple Assignment Unpacking Over
Indexing
Item 7: Prefer enumerate Over range
Item 8: Use zip to Process Iterators in Parallel
Item 9: Avoid else Blocks After for and while Loops
 Item 10: Prevent Repetition with Assignment Expressions
2. Lists and Dictionaries
Item 11: Know How to Slice Sequences
Item 12: Avoid Striding and Slicing in a Single Expression
Item 13: Prefer Catch-All Unpacking Over Slicing
Item 14: Sort by Complex Criteria Using the key Parameter
Item 15: Be Cautious When Relying on dict Insertion
Ordering
Item 16: Prefer get Over in and KeyError to Handle
Missing Dictionary Keys
Item 17: Prefer defaultdict Over setdefault to Handle
Missing Items in Internal State
Item 18: Know How to Construct Key-Dependent Default
Values with __missing__
3. Functions
Item 19: Never Unpack More Than Three Variables When
Functions Return Multiple Values
Item 20: Prefer Raising Exceptions to Returning None
Item 21: Know How Closures Interact with Variable Scope
Item 22: Reduce Visual Noise with Variable Positional
Arguments
Item 23: Provide Optional Behavior with Keyword
Arguments
Item 24: Use None and Docstrings to Specify Dynamic
Default Arguments
Item 25: Enforce Clarity with Keyword-Only and Positional-
Only Arguments
Item 26: Define Function Decorators with functools.wraps
4. Comprehensions and Generators
 Item 27: Use Comprehensions Instead of map and filter
Item 28: Avoid More Than Two Control Subexpressions in
Comprehensions
Item 29: Avoid Repeated Work in Comprehensions by Using
Assignment Expressions
Item 30: Consider Generators Instead of Returning Lists
Item 31: Be Defensive When Iterating Over Arguments
Item 32: Consider Generator Expressions for Large List
Comprehensions
Item 33: Compose Multiple Generators with yield from
Item 34: Avoid Injecting Data into Generators with send
Item 35: Avoid Causing State Transitions in Generators with
throw
Item 36: Consider itertools for Working with Iterators and
Generators
5. Classes and Interfaces
Item 37: Compose Classes Instead of Nesting Many Levels
of Built-in Types
Item 38: Accept Functions Instead of Classes for Simple
Interfaces
Item 39: Use @classmethod Polymorphism to Construct
Objects Generically
Item 40: Initialize Parent Classes with super
Item 41: Consider Composing Functionality with Mix-in
Classes
Item 42: Prefer Public Attributes Over Private Ones
Item 43: Inherit from collections.abc for Custom
Container Types
6. Metaclasses and Attributes
 Item 44: Use Plain Attributes Instead of Setter and Getter
Methods
Item 45: Consider @property Instead of Refactoring
Attributes
Item 46: Use Descriptors for Reusable @property Methods
Item 47: Use __getattr__, __getattribute__, and
__setattr__ for Lazy Attributes
Item 48: Validate Subclasses with __init_subclass__
Item 49: Register Class Existence with __init_subclass__
Item 50: Annotate Class Attributes with __set_name__
Item 51: Prefer Class Decorators Over Metaclasses for
Composable Class Extensions
7. Concurrency and Parallelism
Item 52: Use subprocess to Manage Child Processes
Item 53: Use Threads for Blocking I/O, Avoid for Parallelism
Item 54: Use Lock to Prevent Data Races in Threads
Item 55: Use Queue to Coordinate Work Between Threads
Item 56: Know How to Recognize When Concurrency Is
Necessary
Item 57: Avoid Creating New Thread Instances for On-
demand Fan-out
Item 58: Understand How Using Queue for Concurrency
Requires Refactoring
Item 59: Consider ThreadPoolExecutor When Threads Are
Necessary for Concurrency
Item 60: Achieve Highly Concurrent I/O with Coroutines
Item 61: Know How to Port Threaded I/O to asyncio
Item 62: Mix Threads and Coroutines to Ease the Transition
to asyncio
 Item 63: Avoid Blocking the asyncio Event Loop to
Maximize Responsiveness
Item 64: Consider concurrent.futures for True Parallelism
8. Robustness and Performance
Item 65: Take Advantage of Each Block in
try/except/else/finally
Item 66: Consider contextlib and with Statements for
Reusable try/finally Behavior
Item 67: Use datetime Instead of time for Local Clocks
Item 68: Make pickle Reliable with copyreg
Item 69: Use decimal When Precision Is Paramount
Item 70: Profile Before Optimizing
Item 71: Prefer deque for Producer–Consumer Queues
Item 72: Consider Searching Sorted Sequences with bisect
Item 73: Know How to Use heapq for Priority Queues
Item 74: Consider memoryview and bytearray for Zero-Copy
Interactions with bytes
9. Testing and Debugging
Item 75: Use repr Strings for Debugging Output
Item 76: Verify Related Behaviors in TestCase Subclasses
Item 77: Isolate Tests from Each Other with setUp,
tearDown, setUpModule, and tearDownModule
Item 78: Use Mocks to Test Code with Complex
Dependencies
Item 79: Encapsulate Dependencies to Facilitate Mocking
and Testing
Item 80: Consider Interactive Debugging with pdb
 Item 81: Use tracemalloc to Understand Memory Usage
and Leaks
10. Collaboration
Item 82: Know Where to Find Community-Built Modules
Item 83: Use Virtual Environments for Isolated and
Reproducible Dependencies
Item 84: Write Docstrings for Every Function, Class, and
Module
Item 85: Use Packages to Organize Modules and Provide
Stable APIs
Item 86: Consider Module-Scoped Code to Configure
Deployment Environments
Item 87: Define a Root Exception to Insulate Callers from
APIs
Item 88: Know How to Break Circular Dependencies
Item 89: Consider warnings to Refactor and Migrate Usage
Item 90: Consider Static Analysis via typing to Obviate
Bugs
Index
Code Snippets

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About This eBook
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Praise for Effective Python

“I have been recommending this book enthusiastically since the first

edition appeared in 2015. This new edition, updated and expanded
for Python 3, is a treasure trove of practical Python programming
wisdom that can benefit programmers of all experience levels.”
—Wes McKinney, Creator of Python Pandas project, Director of Ursa
Labs
“If you’re coming from another language, this is your definitive guide
to taking full advantage of the unique features Python has to offer.
I’ve been working with Python for nearly twenty years and I still
learned a bunch of useful tricks, especially around newer features
introduced by Python 3. Effective Python is crammed with actionable
advice, and really helps define what our community means when
they talk about Pythonic code.”
—Simon Willison, Co-creator of Django
“I’ve been programming in Python for years and thought I knew it
pretty well. Thanks to this treasure trove of tips and techniques, I’ve
discovered many ways to improve my Python code to make it faster
(e.g., using bisect to search sorted lists), easier to read (e.g.,
enforcing keyword-only arguments), less prone to error (e.g.,
unpacking with starred expressions), and more Pythonic (e.g., using
zip to iterate over lists in parallel). Plus, the second edition is a great
way to quickly get up to speed on Python 3 features, such as the
walrus operator, f-strings, and the typing module.”
—Pamela Fox, Creator of Khan Academy programming courses
“Now that Python 3 has finally become the standard version of
Python, it’s already gone through eight minor releases and a lot of
new features have been added throughout. Brett Slatkin returns with
a second edition of Effective Python with a huge new list of Python
idioms and straightforward recommendations, catching up with
everything that’s introduced in version 3 all the way through 3.8 that
we’ll all want to use as we finally leave Python 2 behind. Early
sections lay out an enormous list of tips regarding new Python 3
syntaxes and concepts like string and byte objects, f-strings,
assignment expressions (and their special nickname you might not
know), and catch-all unpacking of tuples. Later sections take on
bigger subjects, all of which are packed with things I either didn’t
know or which I’m always trying to teach to others, including
‘Metaclasses and Attributes’ (good advice includes ‘Prefer Class
Decorators over Metaclasses’ and also introduces a new magic
method ‘__init_subclass__()’ I wasn’t familiar with), ‘Concurrency’
(favorite advice: ‘Use Threads for Blocking I/O, but not Parallelism,’
but it also covers asyncio and coroutines correctly) and ‘Robustness
and Performance’ (advice given: ‘Profile before Optimizing’). It’s a
joy to go through each section as everything I read is terrific best
practice information smartly stated, and I’m considering quoting
from this book in the future as it has such great advice all
throughout. This is the definite winner for the ‘if you only read one
Python book this year...’ contest.
—Mike Bayer, Creator of SQLAlchemy
“This is a great book for both novice and experienced programmers.
The code examples and explanations are well thought out and
explained concisely and thoroughly. The second edition updates the
advice for Python 3, and it’s fantastic! I’ve been using Python for
almost 20 years, and I learned something new every few pages. The
advice given in this book will serve anyone well.”
—Titus Brown, Associate Professor at UC Davis
“Once again, Brett Slatkin has managed to condense a wide range of
solid practices from the community into a single volume. From exotic
topics like metaclasses and concurrency to crucial basics like
robustness, testing, and collaboration, the updated Effective Python
makes a consensus view of what’s ‘Pythonic’ available to a wide
audience.”
Other documents randomly have
different content
 "For heaven's sake, ma tante, tell me what the Duc de Tremont thinks!"

Her aunt laughed softly. The intrigue and romance of it all entertained
her. She had the sense of having made a very pretty concession to her niece,
of having accomplished a very agreeable pleasure trip for herself. As for
young Sabron, he would be sure to be discovered at the right moment, to be
lionized, decorated and advanced. The reason that she had no wrinkles on
her handsome cheek was because she went lightly through life.

"He thinks, my dearest girl, that you are like all your countrywomen: a
little eccentric and that you have a strong mind. He thinks you one of the
most tender-hearted and benevolent of girls."

"Ma tante, ma tante!"

"He thinks you are making a little mission into Algiers among the sick
and the wounded. He thinks you are going to sing in the hospitals."

"But," exclaimed the girl, "he must think me mad."

"Young men don't care how mildly mad a beautiful young woman is,
my dear Julia."

"But, he will find out ... he will know."

"No," said the marquise, "that he will not. I have attended to that. He
will not leave his boat during the excursion, Julia. He remains, and we go
on shore with our people."

"How splendid!" sighed Julia Redmond, relieved.

"I'm glad you think so," said her aunt rather shortly. "Now I have a
favor to ask of you, my child."

Julia trembled.

"Ma tante?"

"While we are on board the yacht you will treat Robert charmingly."
 "I am always polite to him, am I not?"

"You are like an irritated sphinx to him, my dear. You must be

different."

"I thought," said the girl in a subdued voice, "that it would be like this.
Oh, I wish I had sailed on any vessel, even a cargo vessel."

Looking at her gently, her aunt said: "Don't be ridiculous. I only wish to
protect you, my child. I think I have proved my friendship. Remember,
before the world you are nothing to Charles de Sabron. A woman's heart,
my dear, has delusions as well as passions."

The girl crimsoned and bowed her charming head. "You are not called
upon to tell Robert de Tremont that you are in love with a man who has not
asked you to marry him, but you are his guest, and all I ask of you is that
you make the voyage as agreeable to him as you can, my dear."

Tremont was coming toward them. Julia raised her head and murmured:

"I thank you for everything. I shall do what I can." And to herself she
said: "That is, as far as my honor will let me."

CHAPTER XVI

THE DUKE IN DOUBT

The short journey to Africa—over a calm and perfect sea, whose waters
were voices at her port to solace her, and where the stars alone glowed
down like friends upon her and seemed to understand—was a torture to
Julia Redmond. To herself she called her aunt cruel, over and over again,
and felt a prisoner, a caged creature.
 Tremont found her charming, though in this role of Florence
Nightingale, she puzzled and perplexed him. She was nevertheless
adorable. The young man had the good sense to make a discreet courtship
and understood she would not be easily won. Until they reached Algiers,
indeed, until the night before they disembarked, he had not said one word to
her which might not have been shared by her aunt. In accordance with the
French custom, they never were alone. The marquise shut her eyes and
napped considerably and gave them every opportunity she could, but she
was always present.

The Duc de Tremont had been often in love during his short life. He
was a Latin and thought that women are made to be loved. It was part of his
education to think this and to tell them this, and he also believed it a proof
of his good taste to tell them this as soon as possible.

He was a thoroughly fine fellow. Some of his forefathers had fought and
fallen in Agincourt. They had been dukes ever since. There was something
distinctly noble in the blond young man, and Julia discovered it. Possibly
she had felt it from the first. Some women are keen to feel. Perhaps if she
had not felt it she might even have hesitated to go to Algiers as his guest.

From the moment that the old duchess had said to Robert de Tremont:

"Julia Redmond is a great catch, my dear boy. I should like to have you
marry her," her son answered:

"Bien, ma mère," with cheerful acquiescence, and immediately

considered it and went to Tarascon, to the Château d'Esclignac. When his
mother had suggested the visit, he told her that he intended making up a
party for the Mediterranean.

"Why don't you take your godmother and the American girl? Miss
Redmond has an income of nearly a million francs and they say she is well-
bred."

"Very good, ma mère."

 When he saw Miss Redmond he found her lovely; not so lovely as the
Comtesse de la Maine, whose invitation to dinner he had refused on the day
his mother suggested the Château d'Esclignac. The comtesse was a widow.
It is not very, very comme il faut to marry a widow, in the Faubourg St.-
Germain. Miss Redmond's beauty was different. She was self-absorbed and
cold. He did not understand her at all, but that was the American of her.

One of his friends had married an American girl and found out
afterward that she chewed gum before breakfast. Pauvre Raymond! Miss
Redmond did not suggest such possibilities. Still she was very different to a
French jeune fille.

With his godmother he was entirely at ease. Ever since she had paid his
trifling debts when he was a young man, he had adored her. Tremont,
always discreet and almost in love with his godmother, kept her in a state of
great good humor always, and when she had suggested to him this little
party he had been delighted. In speaking over the telephone the Marquise
d'Esclignac had said very firmly:

"My dear Robert, you understand that this excursion engages you to
nothing."

"Oh, of course, marraine."

"We both need a change, and between ourselves, Julia has a little
mission on foot."

Tremont would be delighted to help Miss Redmond carry it out. Whom

else should he ask?

"By all means, any one you like," said his godmother diplomatically.
"We want to sail the day after to-morrow." She felt safe, knowing that no
worldly people would accept an invitation on twenty-four hours' notice.

"So," the Duc de Tremont reflected, as he hung up the receiver, "Miss

Redmond has a scheme, a mission! Young girls do not have schemes and
missions in good French society."
 "Mademoiselle," he said to her, as they walked up and down on the deck
in the pale sunset, in front of the chair of the Marquise d'Esclignac, "I never
saw an ornament more becoming to a woman than the one you wear."

"The ornament, Monsieur?"

"On your sleeve. It is so beautiful. A string of pearls would not be more

beautiful, although your pearls are lovely, too. Are all American girls Red
Cross members?"

"But of course not, Monsieur. Are all girls anywhere one thing?"

"Yes," said the Duc de Tremont, "they are all charming, but there are
gradations."

"Do you think that we shall reach Algiers to-morrow, Monsieur?"

"I hope not, Mademoiselle."

Miss Redmond turned her fine eyes on him.

"You hope not?"

"I should like this voyage to last forever, Mademoiselle."

"How ridiculous!"

Her look was so frank that he laughed in spite of himself, and instead of
following up the politeness, he asked:

"Why do you think of Algiers as a field for nursing the sick,

Mademoiselle?"

"There has been quite a deputation of the Red Cross women lately going
from Paris to the East."

"But," said the young man, "there are poor in Tarascon, and sick, too.
There is a great deal of poverty in Nice, and Paris is the nearest of all."
 "The American girls are very imaginative," said Julia Redmond. "We
must have some romance in all we do."

"I find the American girls very charming," said Tremont.

"Do you know many, Monsieur?"

"Only one," he said serenely.

Miss Redmond changed the subject quickly and cleverly, and before he
knew it, Tremont was telling her stories about his own military service,
which had been made in Africa. He talked well and entertained them both,
and Julia Redmond listened when he told her of the desert, of its charm and
its desolation, and of its dangers. An hour passed. The Marquise d'Esclignac
took an ante-prandial stroll, Mimi mincing at her heels.

"Ce pauvre Sabron!" said Tremont. "He has disappeared off the face of
the earth. What a horrible thing it was, Mademoiselle! I knew him in Paris;
I remember meeting him again the night before he left the Midi. He was a
fine fellow with a career before him, his friends say."

"What do you think has become of Monsieur de Sabron?"

Miss Redmond, so far, had only been able to ask this question of her
aunt and of the stars. None of them had been able to tell her. Tremont
shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully.

"He may have dragged himself away to die in some ambush that they
have not discovered, or likely he has been taken captive, le pauvre diable!"

"France will do all it can, Monsieur..."

"They will do all they can, which is to wait. An extraordinary measure,

if taken just now, would probably result in Sabron being put to death by his
captors. He may be found to-morrow—he may never be found."

A slight murmur from the young girl beside him made Tremont look at
her. He saw that her hands were clasped and that her face was quite white,
her eyes staring fixedly before her, out toward Africa. Tremont said:
 "You are compassion itself, Mademoiselle; you have a tender heart. No
wonder you wear the Red Cross. I am a soldier, Mademoiselle. I thank you
for all soldiers. I thank you for Sabron ... but, we must not talk of such
things."

He thought her very charming, both romantic and idealistic. She would
make a delightful friend. Would she not be too intense for a wife? However,
many women of fashion joined the Red Cross. Tremont was a
commonplace man, conventional in his heart and in his tastes.

"My children," said the marquise, coming up to them with Mimi in her
arms, "you are as serious as though we were on a boat bound for the North
Pole and expected to live on tinned things and salt fish. Aren't you hungry,
Julia? Robert, take Mimi to my maid, will you? Julia," said her aunt as
Tremont went away with the little dog, "you look dramatic, my dear, you're
pale as death in spite of this divine air and this enchanting sea." She linked
her arm through her niece's. "Take a brisk walk with me for five minutes
and whip up your blood. I believe you were on the point of making Tremont
some unwise confession."

"I assure you no, ma tante."

"Isn't Bob a darling, Julia?"

"Awfully," returned her niece absent-mindedly.

"He's the most eligible young man in Paris, Julia, and the most difficult
to please."

"Ma tante," said the girl in a low tone, "he tells me that France at
present can do practically nothing about finding Monsieur de Sabron. Fancy
a great army and a great nation helpless for the rescue of a single soldier,
and his life at stake!"

"Julia," said the marquise, taking the trembling hand in her own, "you
will make yourself ill, my darling, and you will be no use to any one, you
know."
 "You're right," returned the girl, "I will be silent and I will only pray."

She turned from her aunt to stand for a few moments quiet, looking out
at the sea, at the blue water through which the boat cut and flew. Along the
horizon was a mist, rosy and translucent, and out of it white Algiers would
shine before many hours.

When Tremont, at luncheon a little later, looked at his guests, he saw a

new Julia. She had left her coat with the Red Cross in her cabin with her
hat. In her pretty blouse, her pearls around her neck, the soft flush on her
cheeks, she was apparently only a light-hearted woman of the world. She
teased her aunt gently, she laughed very deliciously and lightly flirted with
the Duc de Tremont, who opened a bottle of champagne. The Marquise
d'Esclignac beamed upon her niece. Tremont found her more puzzling than
ever. "She suggests the chameleon," he thought, "she has moods. Before,
she was a tragic muse; at luncheon she is an adorable sybarite."

CHAPTER XVII

OUT OF THE DESERT

From a dreamy little villa, whose walls were streaming with

bougainvillea, Miss Redmond looked over Algiers, over the tumult and
hum of it, to the sea. Tremont, by her side, looked at her. From head to foot
the girl was in white. On one side the bougainvillea laid its scarlet flowers
against the stainless linen of her dress, and on her other arm was the Red
Cross.

The American girl and the Frenchman had become the best of friends.
She considered him a sincere companion and an unconscious confederate.
He had not yet decided what he thought of her, or how. His promise to
remain on the yacht had been broken and he paid his godmother and Miss
Redmond constant visits at their villa, which the marquise rented for the
season.

There were times when Tremont thought Miss Redmond's exile a

fanatical one, but he always found her fascinating and a lovely woman, and
he wondered what it was that kept him from laying his title and his fortune
at her feet. It had been understood between the godmother and himself that
he was to court Miss Redmond à l'americaine.

"She has been brought up in such a shocking fashion, Robert, that

nothing but American love-making will appeal to her. You will have to
make love to her, Robert. Can you do it?"

"But, marraine, I might as well make love to a sister of charity."

"There was la Belle Heloise, and no woman is immune."

"I think she is engaged to some American cowboy who will come and
claim her, marraine."

His godmother was offended.

"Rubbish!" she said. "She is engaged to no one, Bob. She is an idealist,

a Rosalind; but that will not prevent her from making an excellent wife."

"She is certainly very beautiful," said the Duc de Tremont, and he told
Julia so.

"You are very beautiful," said the Duc de Tremont to Miss Redmond, as
she leaned on the balcony of the villa. The bougainvillea leaned against her
breast. "When you stood in the hospital under the window and sang to the
poor devils, you looked like an angel."

"Poor things!" said Julia Redmond. "Do you think that they liked it?"

"Liked it!" exclaimed the young man enthusiastically, "couldn't you see
by their faces? One poor devil said to me: 'One can die better now,
Monsieur.' There was no hope for him, it seems."
 Tremont and the Marquise d'Esclignac had docilely gone with Julia
Redmond every day at a certain hour to the different hospitals, where Julia,
after rendering some slight services to the nurses—for she was not needed
—sang for the sick, standing in the outer hallway of the building open on
every side. She knew that Sabron was not among these sick. Where he was
or what sounds his ears might hear, she could not know; but she sang for
him, and the fact put a sweetness in her voice that touched the ears of the
suffering and uplifted those who were not too far down to be uplifted, and
as for the dying, it helped them, as the soldier said, to die.

She had done this for several days, but now she was restless. Sabron
was not in Algiers. No news had been brought of him. His regiment had
been ordered out farther into the desert that seemed to stretch away into
infinity, and the vast cruel sands knew, and the stars knew where Sabron
had fallen and what was his history, and they kept the secret.

The marquise made herself as much at home as possible in Algiers, put

up with the inefficiency of native servants, and her duty was done. Her first
romantic élan was over. Sabron had recalled to her the idyl of a love-affair
of a quarter of a century before, but she had been for too long the Marquise
d'Esclignac to go back to an ideal. She pined to have her niece a duchess,
and never spoke the unfortunate Sabron's name.

They were surrounded by fashionable life. As soon as their arrival had

been made known there had been a flutter of cards and a passing of
carriages and automobiles, and this worldly life added to the unhappiness
and restlessness of Julia, Among the guests had been one woman whom she
found sympathetic; the woman's eyes had drawn Julia to her. It was the
Comtesse de la Maine, a widow, young as herself and, as Julia said, vastly
better-looking. Turning to Tremont on the balcony, when he told her she
was beautiful, she said:

"Madame de la Maine is my ideal of loveliness."

The young man wrinkled his fair brow.

"Do you think so, Mademoiselle? Why?"

 "She has character as well as perfect lines. Her eyes look as though they
could weep and laugh. Her mouth looks as though it could say adorable
things."

Tremont laughed softly and said:

"Go on, you amuse me."

"And her hands look as though they could caress and comfort. I like her
awfully. I wish she were my friend."

Tremont said nothing, and she glanced at him suddenly.

"She says such lovely things about you, Monsieur."

"Really! She is too indulgent."

"Don't be worldly," said Miss Redmond gravely, "be human. I like you
best so. Don't you agree with me?"

"Madame de la Maine is a very charming woman," said the young man,

and the girl saw a change come over his features.

At this moment, as they stood so together, Tremont pulling his mustache

and looking out through the bougainvillea vines, a dark figure made its way
through the garden to the villa, came and took its position under the balcony
where the duke and Miss Redmond leaned. It was a native, a man in filthy
rags. He turned his face to Tremont and bowed low to the lady.

"Excellency," he said in broken French, "my name is Hammet Abou. I

was the ordonnance of Monsieur le Capitaine de Sabron."

"What!" exclaimed Tremont, "what did you say?"

"Ask him to come up here," said Julia Redmond, "or, no—let us go

down to the garden."

"It is damp," said Tremont, "let me get you a shawl."

 "No, no, I need nothing."

She had hurried before him down the little stairs leading into the garden
from the balcony, and she had begun to speak to the native before Tremont
appeared. In this recital he addressed his words to Julia alone.

"I am a very poor man, Excellency," he said in a mellifluous tone, "and

very sick."

"Have you any money, Monsieur?"

"Pray do not suggest it," said the duke sharply. "Let him tell what he
will; we will pay him later."

"I have been very sick," said the man. "I have left the army. I do not like
the French army," said the native simply.

"You are very frank," said Tremont brutally. "Why do you come here at
any rate?"

"Hush," said Julia Redmond imploringly. "Do not anger him, Monsieur,
he may have news." She asked: "Have you news?" and there was a note in
her voice that made Tremont glance at her.

"I have seen the excellency and her grandmother," said the native,
"many times going into the garrison."

"What news have you of Captain de Sabron?" asked the girl directly.
Without replying, the man said in a melancholy voice:

"I was his ordonnance, I saw him fall in the battle of Dirbal. I saw him
shot in the side. I was shot, too. See?"

He started to pull away his rags. Tremont clutched him.

"You beast," he muttered, and pushed him back. "If you have anything
to say, say it."

Looking at Julia Redmond's colorless face, the native asked meaningly:

 "Does the excellency wish any news?"

"Yes," said Tremont, shaking him. "And if you do not give it, it will be
the worse for you."

"Monsieur le Capitaine fell, and I fell, too; I saw no more."

Tremont said:

"You see the fellow is half lunatic and probably knows nothing about
Sabron. I shall put him out of the garden."

But Miss Redmond paid no attention to her companion. She controlled

her voice and asked the man:

"Was the Capitaine de Sabron alone?"

"Except," said the native steadily, with a glance of disgust at the duke,
"except for his little dog."

"Ah!" exclaimed Julia Redmond, with a catch in her voice, "do you hear
that? He must have been his servant. What was the dog's name?"

"My name," said the native, "is Hammet Abou."

To her at this moment Hammet Abou was the most important person in
North Africa.

"What was the little dog's name, Hammet Abou?"

The man raised his eyes and looked at the white woman with
admiration.

"Pitchouné," he said, and saw the effect.

Tremont saw the effect upon her, too.

"I have a wife and ten children," said the man, "and I live far away."
 "Heavens! I haven't my purse," said Julia Redmond. "Will you not give
him something, Monsieur?"

"Wait," said Tremont, "wait. What else do you know? If your

information is worth anything to us we will pay you, don't be afraid."

"Perhaps the excellency's grandmother would like to hear, too," said the
man naively.

Julia Redmond smiled: the youthful Marquise d'Esclignac!

Once more Tremont seized the man by the arm and shook him a little.

"If you don't tell what you have to say and be quick about it, my dear
fellow, I shall hand you over to the police."

"What for?" said the man, "what have I done?"

"Well, what have you got to tell, and how much do you want for it?"

"I want one hundred francs for this," and he pulled out from his dirty
rags a little packet and held it up cautiously.

It looked like a package of letters and a man's pocketbook.

"You take it," said the Duc de Tremont to Julia Redmond, "you take it,
Mademoiselle." She did so without hesitation; it was evidently Sabron's
pocketbook, a leather one with his initials upon it, together with a little
package of letters. On the top she saw her letter to him. Her hand trembled
so that she could scarcely hold the package. It seemed to be all that was left
to her. She heard Tremont ask:

"Where did you get this, you miserable dog?"

"After the battle," said the man coolly, with evident truthfulness, "I was
very sick. We were in camp several days at ——. Then I got better and
went along the dried river bank to look for Monsieur le Capitaine, and I
found this in the sands."
 "Do you believe him?" asked Julia Redmond.

"Hum," said Tremont. He did not wish to tell her he thought the man
capable of robbing the dead body of his master. He asked the native: "Have
you no other news?"

The man was silent. He clutched the rags at his breast and looked at
Julia Redmond.

"Please give him some money, Monsieur."

"The dog!" Tremont shook him again. "Not yet." And he said to the
man: "If this is all you have to tell we will give you one hundred francs for
this parcel. You can go and don't return here again."

"But it is not all," said the native quietly, looking at Julia.

Her heart began to beat like mad and she looked at the man. His keen
dark eyes seemed to pierce her.

"Monsieur," said the American girl boldly, "would you leave me a

moment with him? I think he wants to speak with me alone."

But the Duc de Tremont exclaimed in surprise:

"To speak with you alone, Mademoiselle! Why should he? Such a thing
is not possible!"

"Don't go far," she begged, "but leave us a moment, I pray."

When Tremont, with great hesitation, took a few steps away from them
and she stood face to face with the creature who had been with Sabron and
seen him fall, she said earnestly:

"Now speak without reserve. Tell me everything."

The face of the man was transformed. He became human, devoted,

ardent.
 "Excellency," he said swiftly in his halting French, "I loved Monsieur le
Capitaine. He was so kind and such a brave soldier. I want to go to find
Monsieur le Capitaine, but I am ill and too weak to walk. I believe I know
where he is hid—I want to go."

The girl breathed:

"Oh, can it be possible that what you say is true, Hammet Abou? Would
you really go if you could?"

The man made, with a graceful gesture of his hand, a map in the air.

"It was like this," he said; "I think he fell into the bed of an old river. I
think he drew himself up the bank. I followed the track of his blood. I was
too weak to go any farther, Excellency."

"And how could you go now?" she asked.

"By caravan, like a merchant, secretly. I would find him."

Julia Redmond put out a slim hand, white as a gardenia. The native
lifted it and touched his forehead with it.

"Hammet Abou," she said, "go away for to-night and come to-morrow
—we will see you." And without waiting to speak again to Monsieur de
Tremont, the native slid away out of the garden like a shadow, as though his
limbs were not weak with disease and his breast shattered by shot.

When Monsieur de Tremont had walked once around the garden,

keeping his eyes nevertheless on the group, he came back toward Julia
Redmond, but not quickly enough, for she ran up the stairs and into the
house with Sabron's packet in her hand.
 CHAPTER XVIII

TWO LOVELY WOMEN

There was music at the Villa des Bougainvilleas. Miss Redmond sang;
not Good-night, God Keep You Safe, but other things. Ever since her talk
with Hammet Abou she had been, if not gay, in good spirits, more like her
old self, and the Marquise d'Esclignac began to think that the image of
Charles de Sabron had not been cut too deeply upon her mind. The
marquise, from the lounge in the shadow of the room, enjoyed the picture
(Sabron would not have added it to his collection) of her niece at the piano
and the Duc de Tremont by her side. The Comtesse de la Maine sat in a
little shadow of her own, musing and enjoying the picture of the Duc de
Tremont and Miss Redmond very indifferently. She did not sing; she had no
parlor accomplishments. She was poor, a widow, and had a child. She was
not a brilliant match.

From where he stood, Tremont could see the Comtesse de la Maine in

her little shadow, the oriental decorations a background to her slight
Parisian figure, and a little out of the shadow, the bright aigret in her hair
danced, shaking its sparkles of fire. She looked infinitely sad and infinitely
appealing. One bare arm was along the back of her lounge. She leaned her
head upon her hand.

After a few moments the Duc de Tremont quietly left the piano and
Miss Redmond, and went and sat down beside the Comtesse de la Maine,
who, in order to make a place for him, moved out of the shadow.

Julia, one after another, played songs she loved, keeping her fingers
resolutely from the notes that wanted to run into a single song, the music,
the song that linked her to the man whose life had become a mystery. She
glanced at the Duc de Tremont and the Comtesse de la Maine. She glanced
at her aunt, patting Mimi, who, freshly washed, adorned by pale blue
ribbon, looked disdainful and princely, and with passion and feeling she
began to sing the song that seemed to reach beyond the tawdry room of the
villa in Algiers, and to go into the desert, trying in sweet intensity to speak
and to comfort, and as she sat so singing to one man, Sabron would have
adored adding that picture to his collection.

The servant came up to the marquise and gave her a message. The lady
rose, beckoned Tremont to follow her, and went out on the veranda,
followed by Mimi. Julia stopped playing and went over to the Comtesse de
la Maine.

"Where have my aunt and Monsieur de Tremont gone, Madame?"

"To see some one who has come to suggest a camel excursion, I
believe."

"He chooses a curious hour."

"Everything is curious in the East, Mademoiselle," returned the

comtesse. "I feel as though my own life were turned upside down."

"We are not far enough in the East for that," smiled Julia Redmond. She
regarded the comtesse with her frank girlish scrutiny. There was in it a fine
truthfulness and utter disregard of all the barriers that long epochs of
etiquette put between souls.

Julia Redmond knew nothing of French society and of the deference due
to the arts of the old world. She knew, perhaps, very little of anything. She
was young and unschooled. She knew, as some women know, how to feel,
and how to be, and how to love. She was as honest as her ancestors, among
whose traditions is the story that one of them could never tell a lie.

Julia Redmond sat beside the Comtesse de la Maine, whose elegance

she admired enormously, and taking one of the lady's hands, with a frank
liking she asked in her rich young voice:

"Why do you tolerate me, Madame?"

"Ma chère enfant," exclaimed the comtesse. "Why, you are adorable."

"It is terribly good of you to say so," murmured Julia Redmond. "It
shows how generous you are."
 "But you attribute qualities to me I do not deserve, Mademoiselle."

"You deserve them and much more, Madame. I loved you the first day I
saw you; no one could help loving you."

Julia Redmond was irresistible. The Comtesse de la Maine had

remarked her caprices, her moods, her sadness. She had seen that the good
spirits were false and, as keen women do, she had attributed it to a love-
affair with the Duc de Tremont. The girl's frankness was contagious. The
Comtesse de la Maine murmured:

"I think the same of you, ma chère, vous êtes charmante."

Comtesse de la Main and Julia Redmond
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