During the next two days I had more evidence of Monsieur de St.Gre's ability, and, thanks to his conduct of my campaign, not the least suspicion of my mission to New Orleans got abroad.Certain gentlemen were asked to dine, we called on others, and met still others casually in their haunts of business or pleasure.I was troubled because of the inconvenience and discomfort to which my host put himself, for New Orleans in the dog-days may be likened in climate to the under side of the lid of a steam kettle.But at length, on the second evening, after we had supped on jambalaya and rice cakes and other dainties, and the last guest had gone, my host turned to me.
``The rest of the burrow is the same, Mr.Ritchie, until it comes to the light again.''
``And the fox has crawled out of the other end,'' Isaid.
``Precisely,'' he answered, laughing; ``in short, if you were to remain in New Orleans until New Year's, you would not learn a whit more.To-morrow morning Ihave a little business of my own to transact, and we shall get to Les Iles in time for dinner.No, don't thank me,''
he protested; ``there's a certain rough honesty and earnestness ingrained in you which I like.And besides,'' he added, smiling, ``you are poor indeed at thanking, Mr.
Ritchie.You could never do it gracefully.But if ever I were in trouble, I believe that I might safely call on you.''
The next day was a rare one, for a wind from somewhere had blown the moisture away a little, the shadows were clearer cut, and by noon Monsieur de St.Gre and Iwere walking our horses in the shady road behind the levee.We were followed at a respectful distance by Andre, Monsieur's mulatto body-servant, and as we rode my companion gave me stories of the owners of the different plantations we passed, and spoke of many events of interest in the history of the colony.Presently he ceased to talk, and rode in silence for many minutes.And then he turned upon me suddenly.
``Mr.Ritchie,'' he said, ``you have seen my son.It may be that in him I am paying the price of my sins.
I have done everything to set him straight, but in vain.
Monsieur, every son of the St.Gre's has awakened sooner or later to a sense of what becomes him.But Auguste is a fool,'' he cried bitterly,--a statement which I could not deny; ``were it not for my daughter, Antoinette, Ishould be a miserable man indeed.''
Inasmuch as he was not a person of confidences, I felt the more flattered that he should speak so plainly to me, and I had a great sympathy for this strong man who could not help himself.
``You have observed Antoinette, Mr.Ritchie,'' he continued; ``she is a strange mixture of wilfulness and caprice and self-sacrifice, and she has at times a bit of that wit which has made our house for generations the intimates--I may say--of sovereigns.''
This peculiar pride of race would have amused me in another man.I found myself listening to Monsieur de St.Gre with gravity, and I did not dare to reply that I had had evidence of Mademoiselle's aptness of retort.
``She has been my companion since she was a child, Monsieur.She has disobeyed me, flaunted me, nursed me in illness, championed me behind my back.I have a little book which I have kept of her sayings and doings, which may interest you, Monsieur.I will show it you.''
This indeed was a new side of Monsieur de St.Gre, and I reflected rather ruefully upon the unvarnished truth of what Mr.Wharton had told me,--ay, and what Colonel Clark had emphasized long before.It was my fate never to be treated as a young man.It struck me that Monsieur de St.Gre had never even considered me in the light of a possible suitor for his daughter's hand.
``I should be delighted to see them, Monsieur,'' Ianswered.
``Would you?'' he exclaimed, his face lighting up as he glanced at me.``Alas, Madame de St.Gre and I have promised to go to our neighbors', Monsieur and Madame Bertrand's, for to-night.But, to-morrow, if you have leisure, we shall look at it together.And not a word of this to my daughter, Monsieur,'' he added apprehensively;``she would never forgive me.She dislikes my talking of her, but at times I cannot help it.It was only last year that she was very angry with me, and would not speak to me for days, because I boasted of her having watched at the bedside of a poor gentleman who came here and got the fever.You will not tell her?''
``Indeed I shall not, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``It is strange,'' he said abruptly, ``it is strange that this gentleman and his wife should likewise have had letters to us from Monsieur Gratiot.They came from St.Louis, and they were on their way to Paris.''
``To Paris?'' I cried; ``what was their name?''
He looked at me in surprise.
``Clive,'' he said.
``Clive!'' I cried, leaning towards him in my saddle.
``Clive! And what became of them?''
This time he gave me one of his searching looks, and it was not unmixed with astonishment.
``Why do you ask.Monsieur?'' he demanded.``Did you know them?''
I must have shown that I was strangely agitated.For the moment I could not answer.
``Monsieur Gratiot himself spoke of them to me,'' I said, after a little; ``he said they were an interesting couple.''
``Pardieu!'' exclaimed Monsieur de St.Gre, ``he put it mildly.'' He gave me another look.``There was something about them, Monsieur, which I could not fathom.
Why were they drifting? They were people of quality who had seen the world, who were by no means paupers, who had no cause to travel save a certain restlessness.