Story 2, Chapter III.

Story 2, Chapter III.A General Search All Round.My first belief was that Casey was labouring under an erroneous impression. That some one had robbed him of his watch was clear enough; but there were several persons around him—some of them far more suspicious-looking characters than the accused.Moreover, the elegant style of the man, and the indignant warmth he had displayed, seemed, to some extent, to attest his innocence.My belief, then, was that Casey had pitched upon the wrong man; and I appealed to him to withdraw the charge, and acknowledge his error.To my surprise he would do neither the one nor the other; and, notwithstanding the half-maudlin state he was in, there was an earnestness in his manner, and an unwavering pertinacity in his accusation, that led me to think he was not acting upon mere suspicion, but hadseen something.The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation from being heard upon either side.A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to be searched.“Let there be a general search all round!” demanded several voices.I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand—it was the mate of our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like himself—for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an adjacent wharf.“Yes,” responded several voices; “a search, a search! let us see who is the thief!”No one objected—no one could—for each person present had a personal interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.Two men were immediately chosen as “searchers”—one of whom was our mate himself—the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time, the search proceeded.It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from individual to individual—stopping before each one in turn, handling him about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole company into a mesmeric slumber.There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the silence with ajeu d’esprit. For all this, there was a certain solemnity about the proceeding—a sort of painful anticipation that some one would prove the criminal.During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence—addressing only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered around him. His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under the impression that the gentleman was innocent. This whisper, however, staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he, Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow’s hand.“Surely you must be mistaken—it might have been some other hand?”“Not a bit of it!—I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under them.”“Remember, Casey, you’re not very clear-sighted at this moment: think what you’ve been taking—”“Bah! I’m not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy. I hope, however, it is not gone yet—we’ll soon see.”“You’ll never see your watch again,” said I. “The fellow hasn’t got it—I can tell by his looks.”My conjecture proved correct. The young Frenchman was searched in common with the others. He made no objection—he could make none—and, to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate exactness. He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on the person of the exquisite.It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.Others were now examined, until all had had their turn. No watch!All present were declared innocent men—the watch was not in the room!This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself. It was easily explained. Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment when he declared the accusation. One of these must have been the thief—that was the verdict of the company. More likely one of them had been thereceiver.Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not favourable to him. This, however, only referred to the Creoles and Frenchmen. The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him. They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was probably still in the room.Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no longer urged it publicly—onlysotto voceto our mate, and one or two others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young Frenchman. There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some determination—evidently the affair was not over.As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.“Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?”Several cried “Yes,” by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.“No,” said he, firmly and emphatically—“never! I stand to what I said. You took my watch—youstoleit.”“Liar!” cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same instant sprang towards each other.Fortunately, neither was armed—except with the weapons which nature had provided—and a short game of “fisticuffs”—in which Casey had decidedly the advantage—served as a ’scape valve for the ebullition of their anger.I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more formal ceremony of the exchange of “cards.”Casey gave his address, “Saint Charles Hotel”—whither we were bound, and towards which we had been steering when “brought to” by the gleaming lights of thecafé.The Frenchman’s card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass with the honest mate, and his two or three confrères, we sallied forth from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that magnificentcaravanseraiknown as the Saint Charles Hotel.

My first belief was that Casey was labouring under an erroneous impression. That some one had robbed him of his watch was clear enough; but there were several persons around him—some of them far more suspicious-looking characters than the accused.

Moreover, the elegant style of the man, and the indignant warmth he had displayed, seemed, to some extent, to attest his innocence.

My belief, then, was that Casey had pitched upon the wrong man; and I appealed to him to withdraw the charge, and acknowledge his error.

To my surprise he would do neither the one nor the other; and, notwithstanding the half-maudlin state he was in, there was an earnestness in his manner, and an unwavering pertinacity in his accusation, that led me to think he was not acting upon mere suspicion, but hadseen something.

The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation from being heard upon either side.

A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.

This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to be searched.

“Let there be a general search all round!” demanded several voices.

I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand—it was the mate of our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like himself—for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an adjacent wharf.

“Yes,” responded several voices; “a search, a search! let us see who is the thief!”

No one objected—no one could—for each person present had a personal interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.

Two men were immediately chosen as “searchers”—one of whom was our mate himself—the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time, the search proceeded.

It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from individual to individual—stopping before each one in turn, handling him about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole company into a mesmeric slumber.

There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the silence with ajeu d’esprit. For all this, there was a certain solemnity about the proceeding—a sort of painful anticipation that some one would prove the criminal.

During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence—addressing only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered around him. His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under the impression that the gentleman was innocent. This whisper, however, staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he, Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow’s hand.

“Surely you must be mistaken—it might have been some other hand?”

“Not a bit of it!—I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under them.”

“Remember, Casey, you’re not very clear-sighted at this moment: think what you’ve been taking—”

“Bah! I’m not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy. I hope, however, it is not gone yet—we’ll soon see.”

“You’ll never see your watch again,” said I. “The fellow hasn’t got it—I can tell by his looks.”

My conjecture proved correct. The young Frenchman was searched in common with the others. He made no objection—he could make none—and, to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate exactness. He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on the person of the exquisite.

It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.

Others were now examined, until all had had their turn. No watch!

All present were declared innocent men—the watch was not in the room!

This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself. It was easily explained. Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment when he declared the accusation. One of these must have been the thief—that was the verdict of the company. More likely one of them had been thereceiver.

Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not favourable to him. This, however, only referred to the Creoles and Frenchmen. The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him. They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was probably still in the room.

Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no longer urged it publicly—onlysotto voceto our mate, and one or two others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.

Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young Frenchman. There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some determination—evidently the affair was not over.

As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.

“Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?”

Several cried “Yes,” by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.

“No,” said he, firmly and emphatically—“never! I stand to what I said. You took my watch—youstoleit.”

“Liar!” cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same instant sprang towards each other.

Fortunately, neither was armed—except with the weapons which nature had provided—and a short game of “fisticuffs”—in which Casey had decidedly the advantage—served as a ’scape valve for the ebullition of their anger.

I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.

The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more formal ceremony of the exchange of “cards.”

Casey gave his address, “Saint Charles Hotel”—whither we were bound, and towards which we had been steering when “brought to” by the gleaming lights of thecafé.

The Frenchman’s card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass with the honest mate, and his two or three confrères, we sallied forth from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that magnificentcaravanseraiknown as the Saint Charles Hotel.

Story 2, Chapter IV.The Exchange of Cards.Monsieur Jacques Despard,9,Rue Dauphin.Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey’s sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning. It lay upon his dressing-table—a sorry substitute for the “twenty guinea repeater” that should have been found there.My friend was still in the land of dreams. I was loth to awake him to the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the expected encounter. The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke—laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.“Stay!” said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his pocket-book. “Itmightbe the fellow’s real name and address. If so, it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I’ll have that watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide. Hang it, man!—it’s a family piece—got our crest on it—has been in the family ever since repeaters came into fashion. Yes, I’ll take the worth of it out of his hide! But that’s not possible—the whole of his yellow skin isn’t worth that watch!”And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what might prove a deadly encounter.Pistols we had decided it should be. Casey, expecting to be the challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of weapons. Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are skilled in the use of the small-sword. Some friendly strangers, after the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this fact, at the same time warning us that Casey’s intended antagonist, whom they knew, was a noted swordsman. Swords, then, were not to be thought of.Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home (at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger. For my part, I did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a hurried breakfast.“Faith! you may take your time about it,” said Casey to the retiring waiter. “There’s no need to spoil the meal. Never fear—we’ll eat our breakfast without being interrupted.”“Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes.”“No—nor in ten hours nayther. You’ll ate your dinner without seeing either Misther Despard or his friend.”“Why do you think so?”“Bah.—Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman? All blarney and brag! I tell you the fellow’s a thief—he has got my watch, bad luck to him!—and he thinks the givin’ of the card a ready way to get out of the scrape: that’s the maning of it. We’ll never set eyes on him again, barrin’ we go after him.”I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I began to think there was some truth in it. We waited for breakfast being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner. As Casey had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was announced—no card came in. I had already given rigorous orders to the clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from “Monsieur Jacques Despard.”“Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?” I suggested. “We must give him time.”Eleven o’clock.“Let’s have a sherry cobbler!” proposed Casey; “we’ll have plenty of time to drink it.”A couple of those magnificent “sherry cobblers,” for which the Saint Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.Twelve o’clock. Still no Despard—no friend—no challenge!“I told you so,” said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of despondence. “This card’s good for nothing,” he continued, taking the piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes; “a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself—a false name and address—you see it’s in pencil? Ah, mother o’ Moses! I’ll never see that watch again! Sure enough,” continued he, after a pause, “the name’s in print—he’s gone to the expense of having that engraved, or somebody has for him, which is more likely.—No!—he won’t come to time.”“We must remain at home till dinner. Perhaps they keep late hours here.”“Late or early, we won’t see Misther Despard till we go after him; an’ by gorra!” cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner, “that’s what I mane to do. A man don’t point a pistol at my head, without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I’m bound to have another try for that watch.”From Casey’s earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution. Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard, or, if no such person existed, upon the “swell” who had stolen his repeater.It certainly appeared as if the cardwasa sham: for the dinner hour came, and no one had acknowledged it.We descended, and ate our dinner at the generaltable d’hôte—such a dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint Charles.We sat over our wine till eight o’clock; but although a few friends joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor. Under the influence ofSilleryandMoët, we for the time forgot the unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether, or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was the tenor of my counsels. But it proved of no avail: the fiery Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his “whack” out: he would either get back his watch or have a “pop” at the thief who stole it.So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle to oppose him.Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really had committed the theft. It was his indignant repudiation of the charge that had misled me; but Casey’s constant and earnest asseveration—now strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the failure to make an appearance—satisfied me that we had been in the company of a sharper.With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise what measures should be taken.With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise. Before six—long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed—he was with me.He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that the jest was a melancholy one.“What do you mean to do?”“Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure.”“Will you not give him an hour’s grace? Perhaps he may send this morning?”“No chance whatever.”“It is possible he may have lost your card? Leave it alone till we have had breakfast.”“Lost my card? No. Besides, he might easily have got over that difficulty. He knew we were on our way to this hotel. Don’t all the world come here? No; that isn’t the fellow’s excuse, and I shan’t eat till I know what is. So, rouse up, my boy! and come along.”“But where are you going?”“Number noine, Rue Daw—daw—hang his scribble! Daw—phin, I believe.”I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he intended to proceed. It amounted to little more than a declaration of his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen property, or fight. In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.I saw that he no longer contemplated a duel with his light-fingered adversary. On the contrary, he talked only of “pitching into the fellow,” and “taking the worth of his watch out of him.” The angry feeling he exhibited convinced me that he meant what he said; and that the moment he should set eyes on the Frenchman, there would be a “row.”I saw that this would not do on any account, and for various reasons. Monsieur Jacques Despard, if found at all, would, no doubt, be found to have a fresh cap on the nipple of his pistol; and to be present at a street fight, either as principal or backer, was not to my liking. I had no ambition, either of catching a stray bullet, or of being locked up in the New Orleans Calaboose; and by yielding to Casey’s wish I should be booked for one or the other.Before completing my toilet, therefore, it occurred to me to suggest a slight change in Casey’s programme—which was to the effect that he should stay where he was, and leave it to me to call at the address upon the card. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived there, there would be no difficulty in finding him whenever we should want him. If the contrary, my going alone would be no great waste of time; and we could afterwards adopt such measures as were necessary to bring him to terms.This advice appeared reasonable, and Casey consented to follow it, charging me, as I left him, with the emphatic message—“Tell the fellow if he don’t challengeme, I’ll challengehim, by God!”In five minutes afterwards, I was on my way with the card between my fingers, and walking rapidly towards the Rue Dauphin.

Monsieur Jacques Despard,9,Rue Dauphin.

Monsieur Jacques Despard,9,Rue Dauphin.

Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey’s sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning. It lay upon his dressing-table—a sorry substitute for the “twenty guinea repeater” that should have been found there.

My friend was still in the land of dreams. I was loth to awake him to the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.

In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the expected encounter. The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke—laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.

“Stay!” said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his pocket-book. “Itmightbe the fellow’s real name and address. If so, it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I’ll have that watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide. Hang it, man!—it’s a family piece—got our crest on it—has been in the family ever since repeaters came into fashion. Yes, I’ll take the worth of it out of his hide! But that’s not possible—the whole of his yellow skin isn’t worth that watch!”

And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what might prove a deadly encounter.

Pistols we had decided it should be. Casey, expecting to be the challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of weapons. Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are skilled in the use of the small-sword. Some friendly strangers, after the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this fact, at the same time warning us that Casey’s intended antagonist, whom they knew, was a noted swordsman. Swords, then, were not to be thought of.

Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home (at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger. For my part, I did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a hurried breakfast.

“Faith! you may take your time about it,” said Casey to the retiring waiter. “There’s no need to spoil the meal. Never fear—we’ll eat our breakfast without being interrupted.”

“Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes.”

“No—nor in ten hours nayther. You’ll ate your dinner without seeing either Misther Despard or his friend.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Bah.—Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman? All blarney and brag! I tell you the fellow’s a thief—he has got my watch, bad luck to him!—and he thinks the givin’ of the card a ready way to get out of the scrape: that’s the maning of it. We’ll never set eyes on him again, barrin’ we go after him.”

I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I began to think there was some truth in it. We waited for breakfast being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner. As Casey had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was announced—no card came in. I had already given rigorous orders to the clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.

The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from “Monsieur Jacques Despard.”

“Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?” I suggested. “We must give him time.”

Eleven o’clock.

“Let’s have a sherry cobbler!” proposed Casey; “we’ll have plenty of time to drink it.”

A couple of those magnificent “sherry cobblers,” for which the Saint Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.

Twelve o’clock. Still no Despard—no friend—no challenge!

“I told you so,” said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of despondence. “This card’s good for nothing,” he continued, taking the piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes; “a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself—a false name and address—you see it’s in pencil? Ah, mother o’ Moses! I’ll never see that watch again! Sure enough,” continued he, after a pause, “the name’s in print—he’s gone to the expense of having that engraved, or somebody has for him, which is more likely.—No!—he won’t come to time.”

“We must remain at home till dinner. Perhaps they keep late hours here.”

“Late or early, we won’t see Misther Despard till we go after him; an’ by gorra!” cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner, “that’s what I mane to do. A man don’t point a pistol at my head, without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I’m bound to have another try for that watch.”

From Casey’s earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution. Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard, or, if no such person existed, upon the “swell” who had stolen his repeater.

It certainly appeared as if the cardwasa sham: for the dinner hour came, and no one had acknowledged it.

We descended, and ate our dinner at the generaltable d’hôte—such a dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint Charles.

We sat over our wine till eight o’clock; but although a few friends joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor. Under the influence ofSilleryandMoët, we for the time forgot the unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.

For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether, or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was the tenor of my counsels. But it proved of no avail: the fiery Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his “whack” out: he would either get back his watch or have a “pop” at the thief who stole it.

So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle to oppose him.

Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really had committed the theft. It was his indignant repudiation of the charge that had misled me; but Casey’s constant and earnest asseveration—now strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the failure to make an appearance—satisfied me that we had been in the company of a sharper.

With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise what measures should be taken.

With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise. Before six—long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed—he was with me.

He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that the jest was a melancholy one.

“What do you mean to do?”

“Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure.”

“Will you not give him an hour’s grace? Perhaps he may send this morning?”

“No chance whatever.”

“It is possible he may have lost your card? Leave it alone till we have had breakfast.”

“Lost my card? No. Besides, he might easily have got over that difficulty. He knew we were on our way to this hotel. Don’t all the world come here? No; that isn’t the fellow’s excuse, and I shan’t eat till I know what is. So, rouse up, my boy! and come along.”

“But where are you going?”

“Number noine, Rue Daw—daw—hang his scribble! Daw—phin, I believe.”

I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.

Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he intended to proceed. It amounted to little more than a declaration of his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen property, or fight. In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.

I saw that he no longer contemplated a duel with his light-fingered adversary. On the contrary, he talked only of “pitching into the fellow,” and “taking the worth of his watch out of him.” The angry feeling he exhibited convinced me that he meant what he said; and that the moment he should set eyes on the Frenchman, there would be a “row.”

I saw that this would not do on any account, and for various reasons. Monsieur Jacques Despard, if found at all, would, no doubt, be found to have a fresh cap on the nipple of his pistol; and to be present at a street fight, either as principal or backer, was not to my liking. I had no ambition, either of catching a stray bullet, or of being locked up in the New Orleans Calaboose; and by yielding to Casey’s wish I should be booked for one or the other.

Before completing my toilet, therefore, it occurred to me to suggest a slight change in Casey’s programme—which was to the effect that he should stay where he was, and leave it to me to call at the address upon the card. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived there, there would be no difficulty in finding him whenever we should want him. If the contrary, my going alone would be no great waste of time; and we could afterwards adopt such measures as were necessary to bring him to terms.

This advice appeared reasonable, and Casey consented to follow it, charging me, as I left him, with the emphatic message—

“Tell the fellow if he don’t challengeme, I’ll challengehim, by God!”

In five minutes afterwards, I was on my way with the card between my fingers, and walking rapidly towards the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter V.Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.Following the directions, which I had taken from the hotel-porter, I kept down Saint Charles Street, and crossing the Canal, I entered the Rue Royale into the Frenchquarteror “municipality.”I was informed that by keeping along the Rue Royale for a half-mile or so, I should find the Rue Dauphin leading out of it; and I had, therefore, nothing more to do than to walk directly onward, and look out for the names upon the corners of the streets.Though it was daylight, the lamps were still faintly glimmering, their nightly allowance of oil not being quite exhausted. The shops and warehouses were yet closed; though here and there might be seen a cabaret or café, that had opened its trap-like doors to catch the early birds—small traders on their way to the great vegetable market—cotton-rollers in sky-blue linen inexpressibles, with their shining steel hooks laid jauntily along their hips; now and then a citizen—clerk or shopkeeper—hurrying along to his place of business. Only those of very early habits were abroad.I had proceeded down the Rue Royale about a quarter of a mile, and was beginning to look out for the lettering on the corners of the cross streets, when my attention was drawn to an individual coming in the opposite direction. Though he was still at a considerable distance, and we were on different sides of the street, I fancied I recognised him. Each moment brought us nearer to one another; and as I had kept my eyes upon him from the first, I at length became satisfied of the identity of Monsieur Jacques Despard.“A fortunate encounter,” thought I. “It will save me the trouble of searching for Number 9, Rue Dauphin.”The dress was different: it was a blue coat instead of a claret, and the ruffles were less conspicuously displayed; but the size, shape, and countenance were the same—as also the hair, moustache, and complexion. It must be my man.Crossing diagonally, I placed myself on the banquette to await the gentleman’s approach. My position would have hindered him from passing; and the next moment he halted, and we stood face to face.“Bon jour, Monsieur!” I began.He made no answer, but stood with his eyes staring widely upon me, in which the expression was simply that of innocent surprise.“Well counterfeited,” thought I.“You are early abroad,” I continued. “May I ask Monsieur, what business has brought him into the streets at such an hour of the morning?”The thought had struck me that he might be on his way to the Saint Charles, to make some inquiry; and I recalled my conjecture about his having mislaid Casey’s card.“What business, Monsieur, but that of my profession?” and as he made this reply, his dark eye flashed with a kindling indignation—which, of course, I regarded as counterfeit.“Oh!” said I, in a sneering tone, “it appears that you pursue your profession at all hours. I thought the night was your favourite time. I should have fancied that at this hour you would scarcely have found victims.”“Fool! Who are you? What are you talking of? What means this rudeness?”“Pooh—pooh! Monsieur Despard; you are not going to get off in that way. Your memory appears short. Perhaps this card will refresh it; or do you repudiate that also?”“Card!—what card?”“Look there!—perhaps you will deny having given it?”“I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall havemy card; and for this insult I demand yours in return.”“It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed.”Curiosity, however, prompted me. I was desirous of ascertaining whether his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested. Hastily scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in return. To my astonishment I read:—“Luis De Hauteroche,16, Rue Royale.”I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident. The fellow was no doubt well provided with cards—kept a varied “pack” of them, and this was only another sham one.I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I had fairly “treed” him.“Is this yourrealaddress?” I inquired, with an incredulous expression.“Peste! Monsieur, do you still continue your insults? But you shall give me full satisfaction. It is my professional address. See for yourself.”And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards from the spot where we were standing.Among other names painted upon the panel I read:“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche,Avocat.”“I can be found here at all hours,” said he, passing me and stepping inside the doorway. “But you will not need to seek me, Monsieur. I promise it, my friend shall call upon you without delay.”The door closing behind him put an end to our “interview.”For some seconds I stood in a kind of “quandary.” I could not doubt but that it was the same man whom we had met in the drinking saloon. The dress was different—of a more sober cut, though equally elegant—but this was nothing: it was a different hour, and that might account for the change of garments. Thetout ensemblewas the same—the features, complexion, colour of hair, curl and all.And still I could not exactly identify the bearing of Monsieur Jacques Despard with that of Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche. The evil expression of eye which I had noticed formerly was not visible to-day; and certainly the behaviour of the young man on the present occasion, had been that of an innocent and insulted gentleman.Was it possible I could have made a mistake, and had, in transatlantic phrase “waked up the wrong passenger?”I began to feel misgivings. There was a simple means of satisfying myself—at least a probability of doing so. The Rue Dauphin could not be far off, and might soon be reached. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived at Number 9, the mystery would be at an end.I turned on my heel, and proceeded in the direction of the Rue Dauphin.

Following the directions, which I had taken from the hotel-porter, I kept down Saint Charles Street, and crossing the Canal, I entered the Rue Royale into the Frenchquarteror “municipality.”

I was informed that by keeping along the Rue Royale for a half-mile or so, I should find the Rue Dauphin leading out of it; and I had, therefore, nothing more to do than to walk directly onward, and look out for the names upon the corners of the streets.

Though it was daylight, the lamps were still faintly glimmering, their nightly allowance of oil not being quite exhausted. The shops and warehouses were yet closed; though here and there might be seen a cabaret or café, that had opened its trap-like doors to catch the early birds—small traders on their way to the great vegetable market—cotton-rollers in sky-blue linen inexpressibles, with their shining steel hooks laid jauntily along their hips; now and then a citizen—clerk or shopkeeper—hurrying along to his place of business. Only those of very early habits were abroad.

I had proceeded down the Rue Royale about a quarter of a mile, and was beginning to look out for the lettering on the corners of the cross streets, when my attention was drawn to an individual coming in the opposite direction. Though he was still at a considerable distance, and we were on different sides of the street, I fancied I recognised him. Each moment brought us nearer to one another; and as I had kept my eyes upon him from the first, I at length became satisfied of the identity of Monsieur Jacques Despard.

“A fortunate encounter,” thought I. “It will save me the trouble of searching for Number 9, Rue Dauphin.”

The dress was different: it was a blue coat instead of a claret, and the ruffles were less conspicuously displayed; but the size, shape, and countenance were the same—as also the hair, moustache, and complexion. It must be my man.

Crossing diagonally, I placed myself on the banquette to await the gentleman’s approach. My position would have hindered him from passing; and the next moment he halted, and we stood face to face.

“Bon jour, Monsieur!” I began.

He made no answer, but stood with his eyes staring widely upon me, in which the expression was simply that of innocent surprise.

“Well counterfeited,” thought I.

“You are early abroad,” I continued. “May I ask Monsieur, what business has brought him into the streets at such an hour of the morning?”

The thought had struck me that he might be on his way to the Saint Charles, to make some inquiry; and I recalled my conjecture about his having mislaid Casey’s card.

“What business, Monsieur, but that of my profession?” and as he made this reply, his dark eye flashed with a kindling indignation—which, of course, I regarded as counterfeit.

“Oh!” said I, in a sneering tone, “it appears that you pursue your profession at all hours. I thought the night was your favourite time. I should have fancied that at this hour you would scarcely have found victims.”

“Fool! Who are you? What are you talking of? What means this rudeness?”

“Pooh—pooh! Monsieur Despard; you are not going to get off in that way. Your memory appears short. Perhaps this card will refresh it; or do you repudiate that also?”

“Card!—what card?”

“Look there!—perhaps you will deny having given it?”

“I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall havemy card; and for this insult I demand yours in return.”

“It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed.”

Curiosity, however, prompted me. I was desirous of ascertaining whether his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested. Hastily scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in return. To my astonishment I read:—

“Luis De Hauteroche,16, Rue Royale.”

“Luis De Hauteroche,16, Rue Royale.”

I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident. The fellow was no doubt well provided with cards—kept a varied “pack” of them, and this was only another sham one.

I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I had fairly “treed” him.

“Is this yourrealaddress?” I inquired, with an incredulous expression.

“Peste! Monsieur, do you still continue your insults? But you shall give me full satisfaction. It is my professional address. See for yourself.”

And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards from the spot where we were standing.

Among other names painted upon the panel I read:

“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche,Avocat.”

“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche,Avocat.”

“I can be found here at all hours,” said he, passing me and stepping inside the doorway. “But you will not need to seek me, Monsieur. I promise it, my friend shall call upon you without delay.”

The door closing behind him put an end to our “interview.”

For some seconds I stood in a kind of “quandary.” I could not doubt but that it was the same man whom we had met in the drinking saloon. The dress was different—of a more sober cut, though equally elegant—but this was nothing: it was a different hour, and that might account for the change of garments. Thetout ensemblewas the same—the features, complexion, colour of hair, curl and all.

And still I could not exactly identify the bearing of Monsieur Jacques Despard with that of Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche. The evil expression of eye which I had noticed formerly was not visible to-day; and certainly the behaviour of the young man on the present occasion, had been that of an innocent and insulted gentleman.

Was it possible I could have made a mistake, and had, in transatlantic phrase “waked up the wrong passenger?”

I began to feel misgivings. There was a simple means of satisfying myself—at least a probability of doing so. The Rue Dauphin could not be far off, and might soon be reached. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived at Number 9, the mystery would be at an end.

I turned on my heel, and proceeded in the direction of the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter VI.Monsieur Jacques Despard.A hundred yards brought me to the corner of this famous street, and twenty more to the front of Number 9, a large crazy looking house, that had the appearance of a common hotel, or cheap boarding-house.The door stood open, and I could see down a long dark hall. But there was no knocker. A brass-handled bell appeared to be the substitute, under which were the words—“Tirez la sonette.”I climbed the ricketty steps and rang. A slatternly female—a mulatto—half asleep, came slippering along the hall; and, on reaching the door, drawled out:—“Que voulez vous, Mosheu?”“Does Monsieur Despard live here?”“Moss’r Despard?Oui—oui.”“Will you have the goodness to say that a gentleman wishes a word with him?”The girl had not time to reply, before a side door was heard creaking open, and a head and shoulders were protruded into the hall. They were those of a man.Though the hair of the head was tossed and frowsy, and the shirt that covered the shoulders looked as if it had passed through the “beggar’s mangle,” I had no difficulty in recognising the wearer. It was Monsieur Despard—Monsieur Desparden deshabille.The gentleman evidently regretted his imprudence, and would have withdrawn himself from view. The shirt and shoulders had already disappeared behind the screening of the lintel; but, before the head could be backed in, I had stepped over the threshold and “nailed him” to an interview.“Monsieur Despard, I believe?” was the interrogative style of my salutation.“Oui, M’sseu. What is your business?”“Rather a strange question for you to put, Monsieur Despard. Perhaps you do not remember me?”“Perfectly.”“And what occurred at our first interview?”“Equally well—that you were accompanied by a drunken brute who calumniated me.”“It is not becoming to vilify a gentleman after he has given you his card. Of course you intend to challenge him?”“Of course I intend nothing of the sort.Parbleu! M’sseu, I should have a busy time of it, were I to notice the babble of every drunken brawler. I can pardon the slang of sling drinkers.”I had discovered by this time that Monsieur Despard spoke English as fluently as he did French, and also that he was perfectly versed in the slang epithets of our language.“Come, Monsieur,” said I, “this grandeur will not screen you. It shall be my duty to repeat your elegant phraseology to my friend, who I can promise will not pardonyou.”“That don’t signify.”“If you are not disposed tosenda challenge, you will be compelled toreceiveone.”“Oh! that is different. I shall be most happy to accept it.”“It would save time if you give me the address of your second.”“Time enough after I have received the challenge.”“In two hours, then, I shall demand it.”“Très bien, M’sseu.”And with a stiff bow thecaputof Monsieur Despard disappeared into the dark doorway.Turning away, I descended the creaking steps, and walked back along the Rue Dauphin.On reaching the corner of Rue Royale, I paused to reflect. I had ample food for reflection—sufficient almost to bewilder me. Within ten minutes I had succeeded in filling my hands with business enough to last me for the whole of that day and a portion of the next. The object of my halting, therefore, was that I might think over this business, and if possible arrange it into some kind of a definite programme.An open cabaret close by offered an empty chair and a table. This invited me to enter; and, seating myself inside, I called for some claret and a cigar. These promised to lend a certain perspicuity to my thoughts, that would enable me to set my proceedings in some order.My first thought was a feeling of regret at having promised Monsieur Despard to call again. I knew that Casey would insist upon a meeting—all the more pertinaciously on hearing what had passed—and I was now more than ever convinced of the absurdity of such a step. What had he to gain by fighting with such a man? Certainly not his watch, and as certainly there was no credit to be derived from such an encounter. What I had just seen and heard, perfectly satisfied me that we were not dealing with a gentleman. The appearance of Monsieur Despard in his morning deshabille—his vulgar behaviour and language—themise-en-scènein the midst of which I had found him—and above all the nonchalant bravado with which he had treated Casey’s serious charge against him—convinced me that the charge was true; and that instead of a gentleman we had to do with achevalier d’industrie.What, then, could Casey gain in measuring weapons with a character of this kind? Certainly nothing to his advantage.On the other hand he might lose in the encounter, and in all probability he would.A very painful reflection entered my mind as I dwelt upon this. If the fellow had designed it, he could not have exhibited more skill in bringing circumstances about in his favour; and only now did it occur to me the advantage we had given him. The positions of the parties had become entirely reversed. His adversary now held the citadel: Casey was to be the assailant. If the Frenchman intended to stand up—and under the altered circumstances it was likely he would—I feared for the result. He would have the right of choice; the rapier would unquestionably be the weapon chosen; and from the inexorable laws of the duello there would be no appeal.As these considerations ran hurriedly through my mind, I began to feel sincerely anxious about the consequences; and blamed myself for permitting my temper—a little frayed by the insulting language—to betray me into, what I now regarded as, a manifest imprudence. “Facile decensus averni, sed revocare gradum.”There was no retreating from the step I had taken. Casey’s antagonist might be a gambler, a swindler, a suspected thief, but in New Orleans—more especially at the time of which I write—these titles would not rob him of the right to demand the treatment of a gentleman—that is, if he offered to fight as one.We had gone too far. I knew that we were so compromised that we must carry the thing to an end.I had but one hope; and this was that Monsieur Despard might after all prove abavard, and show the white feather.I must confess, however, that this hope was a very faint one. If the fellow had impressed me with an idea of his vulgarity, he had said or done nothing that could lead me to question his courage.Up to this time, the tumult of my thoughts had hindered me from dwelling upon my odd encounter with the young avocat. Since it had only happened fifteen minutes before, of course, I had not forgotten it; and the affair of my friend being, in my mind, now arranged, it became necessary to attend to my own.So ludicrous was the wholecontretemps, that I could scarcely restrain laughter when I thought of it; but there was also a serious side to the question, calculated to prevent any free ebullition of mirth.Already, perhaps, Monsieur De Hauteroche’s messenger was on his way to the Saint Charles Hotel; and, on arriving there, I might find that besides having to play the easymétierof second in a duel, I should be called upon to enact the more seriousrôleof a “principal.”Mightfind! there was nomightin the matter. I was as certain of it as if I already carried the challenge in my pocket.I could not help reflecting upon the very awkward dilemma, into which a moment of evil indulgence had plunged both my friend and myself, and upon the very threshold of new world life. It seemed that we were to be initiated into its mysteries by a baptism of blood!I was less uneasy about my own affair. My chief source of regret was, my having given pain and offence to a young gentleman, who appeared to be one of delicate susceptibility. Certainly my strange behaviour must have astonished him, as much as the after finding of his counterpart, and the resemblance between them, astonishedme.The likeness was really remarkable—though less than it would have been, had Monsieur Despard been in full toilette, as I had first viewed him. The scar upon his cheek, moreover, I now observed and remembered. Why had I not thought of it before?With regard to my affair with Monsieur De Hauteroche, the course was simple and clear: an unqualified apology. I only hesitated as to the when and where to make it.Should I go on to the hotel and meet his second? That would be a more ceremonious way of proceeding—the mosten règle.But the apology would require an explanation—the embroglio was curious and complicated—and the explanation could only be properly understood by giving the detailsviva voce.I resolved, therefore, to waive all ceremony, and, trusting to the generosity of my accidental enemy, to return to himin propria persona.Quaffing off my claret; and flinging away the stump of my cigar, I walked directly to Number 16, Rue Royale.To my gratification I found the youngavocatin his office; and I was further satisfied by perceiving that I was in good time. No message had yet been sent to the Saint Charles—though I had no doubt that the military-looking gentleman whom I met in the office was upon the eve of such an errand. My appearance must have been as little expected as that of the “man in the moon.”I shall not trouble the reader by detailing the apology. The explanation is known already. Suffice it to say, that when Monsieur De Hauteroche heard it, he not only acted in the true spirit of a gentleman; but, from an enemy, became transformed into a friend. Perceiving that I was a stranger, he generously invited me to renew my visit; and, with a hearty laugh at theoutréstyle of our introduction, we parted.Casey’s more serious affair was still upon my mind; and I hurried home to the hotel.As I expected, Caseywouldsend the challenge; and, as I almost confidently anticipated, the otheracceptedit. It ended in a duel, and I need hardly add that swords were the weapons.I refrain from giving a description of this duel, which differed only from about a million of others—minutely described by romance writers—in being one of the very shortest of combats. At the very first passage Casey received (and I esteemed it very fortunate that he did so) his adversary’s sword through the muscles of his right arm—completely disabling him. That was all the satisfaction he ever got for the loss of his repeater!Of course this rude thrust ended the combat; and Monsieur Jacques Despard marched off the ground without a scratch upon his person or a blemish on his name.Casey, however, still asserted—though, of course, not publicly—“that the fellow took the watch;” and I afterwards found good reason to believe hedidtake it.

A hundred yards brought me to the corner of this famous street, and twenty more to the front of Number 9, a large crazy looking house, that had the appearance of a common hotel, or cheap boarding-house.

The door stood open, and I could see down a long dark hall. But there was no knocker. A brass-handled bell appeared to be the substitute, under which were the words—“Tirez la sonette.”

I climbed the ricketty steps and rang. A slatternly female—a mulatto—half asleep, came slippering along the hall; and, on reaching the door, drawled out:—“Que voulez vous, Mosheu?”

“Does Monsieur Despard live here?”

“Moss’r Despard?Oui—oui.”

“Will you have the goodness to say that a gentleman wishes a word with him?”

The girl had not time to reply, before a side door was heard creaking open, and a head and shoulders were protruded into the hall. They were those of a man.

Though the hair of the head was tossed and frowsy, and the shirt that covered the shoulders looked as if it had passed through the “beggar’s mangle,” I had no difficulty in recognising the wearer. It was Monsieur Despard—Monsieur Desparden deshabille.

The gentleman evidently regretted his imprudence, and would have withdrawn himself from view. The shirt and shoulders had already disappeared behind the screening of the lintel; but, before the head could be backed in, I had stepped over the threshold and “nailed him” to an interview.

“Monsieur Despard, I believe?” was the interrogative style of my salutation.

“Oui, M’sseu. What is your business?”

“Rather a strange question for you to put, Monsieur Despard. Perhaps you do not remember me?”

“Perfectly.”

“And what occurred at our first interview?”

“Equally well—that you were accompanied by a drunken brute who calumniated me.”

“It is not becoming to vilify a gentleman after he has given you his card. Of course you intend to challenge him?”

“Of course I intend nothing of the sort.Parbleu! M’sseu, I should have a busy time of it, were I to notice the babble of every drunken brawler. I can pardon the slang of sling drinkers.”

I had discovered by this time that Monsieur Despard spoke English as fluently as he did French, and also that he was perfectly versed in the slang epithets of our language.

“Come, Monsieur,” said I, “this grandeur will not screen you. It shall be my duty to repeat your elegant phraseology to my friend, who I can promise will not pardonyou.”

“That don’t signify.”

“If you are not disposed tosenda challenge, you will be compelled toreceiveone.”

“Oh! that is different. I shall be most happy to accept it.”

“It would save time if you give me the address of your second.”

“Time enough after I have received the challenge.”

“In two hours, then, I shall demand it.”

“Très bien, M’sseu.”

And with a stiff bow thecaputof Monsieur Despard disappeared into the dark doorway.

Turning away, I descended the creaking steps, and walked back along the Rue Dauphin.

On reaching the corner of Rue Royale, I paused to reflect. I had ample food for reflection—sufficient almost to bewilder me. Within ten minutes I had succeeded in filling my hands with business enough to last me for the whole of that day and a portion of the next. The object of my halting, therefore, was that I might think over this business, and if possible arrange it into some kind of a definite programme.

An open cabaret close by offered an empty chair and a table. This invited me to enter; and, seating myself inside, I called for some claret and a cigar. These promised to lend a certain perspicuity to my thoughts, that would enable me to set my proceedings in some order.

My first thought was a feeling of regret at having promised Monsieur Despard to call again. I knew that Casey would insist upon a meeting—all the more pertinaciously on hearing what had passed—and I was now more than ever convinced of the absurdity of such a step. What had he to gain by fighting with such a man? Certainly not his watch, and as certainly there was no credit to be derived from such an encounter. What I had just seen and heard, perfectly satisfied me that we were not dealing with a gentleman. The appearance of Monsieur Despard in his morning deshabille—his vulgar behaviour and language—themise-en-scènein the midst of which I had found him—and above all the nonchalant bravado with which he had treated Casey’s serious charge against him—convinced me that the charge was true; and that instead of a gentleman we had to do with achevalier d’industrie.

What, then, could Casey gain in measuring weapons with a character of this kind? Certainly nothing to his advantage.

On the other hand he might lose in the encounter, and in all probability he would.

A very painful reflection entered my mind as I dwelt upon this. If the fellow had designed it, he could not have exhibited more skill in bringing circumstances about in his favour; and only now did it occur to me the advantage we had given him. The positions of the parties had become entirely reversed. His adversary now held the citadel: Casey was to be the assailant. If the Frenchman intended to stand up—and under the altered circumstances it was likely he would—I feared for the result. He would have the right of choice; the rapier would unquestionably be the weapon chosen; and from the inexorable laws of the duello there would be no appeal.

As these considerations ran hurriedly through my mind, I began to feel sincerely anxious about the consequences; and blamed myself for permitting my temper—a little frayed by the insulting language—to betray me into, what I now regarded as, a manifest imprudence. “Facile decensus averni, sed revocare gradum.”

There was no retreating from the step I had taken. Casey’s antagonist might be a gambler, a swindler, a suspected thief, but in New Orleans—more especially at the time of which I write—these titles would not rob him of the right to demand the treatment of a gentleman—that is, if he offered to fight as one.

We had gone too far. I knew that we were so compromised that we must carry the thing to an end.

I had but one hope; and this was that Monsieur Despard might after all prove abavard, and show the white feather.

I must confess, however, that this hope was a very faint one. If the fellow had impressed me with an idea of his vulgarity, he had said or done nothing that could lead me to question his courage.

Up to this time, the tumult of my thoughts had hindered me from dwelling upon my odd encounter with the young avocat. Since it had only happened fifteen minutes before, of course, I had not forgotten it; and the affair of my friend being, in my mind, now arranged, it became necessary to attend to my own.

So ludicrous was the wholecontretemps, that I could scarcely restrain laughter when I thought of it; but there was also a serious side to the question, calculated to prevent any free ebullition of mirth.

Already, perhaps, Monsieur De Hauteroche’s messenger was on his way to the Saint Charles Hotel; and, on arriving there, I might find that besides having to play the easymétierof second in a duel, I should be called upon to enact the more seriousrôleof a “principal.”

Mightfind! there was nomightin the matter. I was as certain of it as if I already carried the challenge in my pocket.

I could not help reflecting upon the very awkward dilemma, into which a moment of evil indulgence had plunged both my friend and myself, and upon the very threshold of new world life. It seemed that we were to be initiated into its mysteries by a baptism of blood!

I was less uneasy about my own affair. My chief source of regret was, my having given pain and offence to a young gentleman, who appeared to be one of delicate susceptibility. Certainly my strange behaviour must have astonished him, as much as the after finding of his counterpart, and the resemblance between them, astonishedme.

The likeness was really remarkable—though less than it would have been, had Monsieur Despard been in full toilette, as I had first viewed him. The scar upon his cheek, moreover, I now observed and remembered. Why had I not thought of it before?

With regard to my affair with Monsieur De Hauteroche, the course was simple and clear: an unqualified apology. I only hesitated as to the when and where to make it.

Should I go on to the hotel and meet his second? That would be a more ceremonious way of proceeding—the mosten règle.

But the apology would require an explanation—the embroglio was curious and complicated—and the explanation could only be properly understood by giving the detailsviva voce.

I resolved, therefore, to waive all ceremony, and, trusting to the generosity of my accidental enemy, to return to himin propria persona.

Quaffing off my claret; and flinging away the stump of my cigar, I walked directly to Number 16, Rue Royale.

To my gratification I found the youngavocatin his office; and I was further satisfied by perceiving that I was in good time. No message had yet been sent to the Saint Charles—though I had no doubt that the military-looking gentleman whom I met in the office was upon the eve of such an errand. My appearance must have been as little expected as that of the “man in the moon.”

I shall not trouble the reader by detailing the apology. The explanation is known already. Suffice it to say, that when Monsieur De Hauteroche heard it, he not only acted in the true spirit of a gentleman; but, from an enemy, became transformed into a friend. Perceiving that I was a stranger, he generously invited me to renew my visit; and, with a hearty laugh at theoutréstyle of our introduction, we parted.

Casey’s more serious affair was still upon my mind; and I hurried home to the hotel.

As I expected, Caseywouldsend the challenge; and, as I almost confidently anticipated, the otheracceptedit. It ended in a duel, and I need hardly add that swords were the weapons.

I refrain from giving a description of this duel, which differed only from about a million of others—minutely described by romance writers—in being one of the very shortest of combats. At the very first passage Casey received (and I esteemed it very fortunate that he did so) his adversary’s sword through the muscles of his right arm—completely disabling him. That was all the satisfaction he ever got for the loss of his repeater!

Of course this rude thrust ended the combat; and Monsieur Jacques Despard marched off the ground without a scratch upon his person or a blemish on his name.

Casey, however, still asserted—though, of course, not publicly—“that the fellow took the watch;” and I afterwards found good reason to believe hedidtake it.

Story 2, Chapter VII.Hospitable Friends.Casey’s views were commercial, and New Orleans was not the place where a display of spirit would be likely to damage his prospects. It appeared rather to have an opposite effect; for, before his arm was well out of the sling, I had the gratification to learn that he had received an appointment in one of the large cotton commission houses—a calling sufficiently suited to his temperament.My own object in visiting the Western World was less definite. I was of that age when travel is attractive—young enough to afford a few years offar nientebefore entering upon the more serious pursuits of life. In short, I had no object beyond idleness and sight-seeing; and in either way, a month or two may be passed in New Orleans without much danger of suffering fromennui.My stay in the “Crescent City” extended to a period of full three months. A pleasant hospitality induced me to prolong it beyond what I had originally intended: and the dispenser of this hospitality was no other than Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.Notwithstanding thebizarrerieof its beginning, our acquaintance soon grew into friendship; for the southern heart is of free and quick expansion, as the flowers of its clime, and its affection as rapidly ripens. There the friendship of a single month is often as strong—ay, and as lasting too—as that which results from years of intercourse under the cold ceremonies of old world life.In a month De Hauteroche and I were bosom friends; and scarcely a day passed that we did not see each other, scarcely three that we were not companions in some boating or hunting excursion—somefête champêtreamong his Creole acquaintances, the hospitable planters of the “coast,”—at thebal-masque, or in the boxes of the “Théatre Français.”In the morning hours I often visited him at his place of business—for business he did not altogether neglect—in the Rue Royale; but more frequently in the evening at his private residence—the pretty little “cabane,” as he called it, with its glass door windows and vine-loaded verandahs, in the adjoining street of the Rue Bourgogne.This charming spot had a peculiar attraction for me. Was it the company of De Hauteroche himself or that of Adele, his fair sister, that drew me so often thither? It must have been one or the other—for excepting the dark-skinned domestics, the two were the only inmates of the house. I relished much the conversation of my young Creole friend—perhaps still more, the music which his sister understood how to produce upon her harp and guitar. Especially did the notes of the harp vibrate pleasantly upon my ear; and the picture of a fair maiden seated in front of that noble stringed instrument, soon impressed itself on my spirit, whether awake or dreaming. Adele became the vision of my dreams.Without designing it, I soon became acquainted with the family history of my new friends. It was but the natural consequence of the confidential intercourse that had sprung up between us.They were the orphan children of an officer of the Napoleonic army—anancien-colonelof artillery—who, after the defeat of Waterloo, surrendered up his sword and sought an asylum in the Far West. He was but one of many, who, at that time, deprived of the patronage of their great leader, becameemigrésby a sort of voluntary exile, finding in the French settlements of the New World—Louisiana among the rest—a kindred and congenial home.In the case of Hauteroche, however, the habits of the military man had not fitted him either for a commercial life or that of a planter. His affairs had not prospered—and at his death, which had occurred but the year before—he had left his children little other inheritance than that of an excellent education and a spotless name.Far otherwise had it been with a comrade who accompanied him in his exile—a brother officer of his regiment and a devoted bosom friend. The latter preferring the cooler climate of Saint Louis, had gone up the river and settled there.He was a Norman, and his young wife had accompanied him. With the stauncher qualities of this race, he had devoted himself to commercial pursuits; and his perseverance was rewarded by the acquirement of an ample fortune—which, with his wife—also of Norman family—and an only daughter, he was now enjoying in opulent retirement.The almost fraternal friendship of the two ex-officers was not extinguished by their altered mode of life; but, on the contrary, it continued as warm as ever during the period of their residence in the New World. Annually the “crate” of oranges from the south was sent up to Saint Louis, and as often was the barrel of apples or walnuts—the produce of the more temperate clime—despatched in the opposite direction—a pleasant interchange of presents effected by the medium of the mighty Mississippi.A personal intercourse, too, was at intervals renewed. Every two or three years the old colonel had indulged himself with a ramble on the prairies which lie contiguous to the settlements of Saint Louis, while his brother officer, at like intervals, reciprocated the visit by a trip to the great southern metropolis, thus in a very convenient manner combining the opportunities of business and pleasure.Under these circumstances it was natural that the families of De Hauteroche and Dardonville should be affectionately attached to each other, and such was in reality the case. I was constantly hearing of the latter—of the goodness of Madame Dardonville—of the beauty of Olympe.It was nearly three years since either De Hauteroche or his sister had seen their Saint Louis friends. Olympe, as was alleged, was then but a child; but the fervour with which the young avocat descanted upon her merits, led me to suspect that in his eyes at least, she had reached a very interesting period of her childhood. Now and then the merry badinage of his sister on this point, bringing the colour to his cheeks, confirmed me in the suspicion.My new acquaintances had admitted me as a link into the chain of their happy circle; and for three months I enjoyed, almost without interruption, its pleasant hospitality.It became a spell that was hard to break; and when the hour of leave-taking arrived, I looked upon it as a painful necessity—though my absence did not promise to be a prolonged one.The necessity was one of sufficient urgency. A July sun was glaring from the sky, and the yellow spectre had entered the Crescent City, upon its annual visit of devastation.Already had it begun its ghastly work, and here and there presented itself in horrid mien. In those Faubourgs where dwelt the less opulent of the population, I observed traces of its presence; that symbol of terrible significance—the red cross upon the closed door—telling too plainly that the destroyer had been there.It would have been madness for me to have remained amidst a pestilence, from which it was so easy to escape. Twenty hours upon a fast boat, and I should be clear of the danger: and among the up-river towns I might make choice of an asylum.Four large cities—Pittsburg, Louisville, Cincinatti, and Saint Louis—lay beyond the latitude of the epidemic: all easy of access. In any of these I might find a luxurious home; but I longed to look upon those boundless fields of green, for years the idol of my youthful fancy; and I knew that Saint Louis was the gate that guided to them. Thither, then, was I bound.With regret I parted from my Creole friends. They had no need to fly or fear the scourge. Acclimatised in the middle of that vastmarais, its malaria had for them neither terror nor danger. Immunity from both was their birthright, and New Orleans was their home throughout the year: though during the months of intolerable heat and utter stagnation of business, it was their habit to reside in one of the numerous summer retreats found upon the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.I was in hopes they would have accompanied me to Saint Louis, and I endeavoured to induce them to do so.Luis seemed desirous, and yet declined! I knew not the delicate reason that influenced him to this self-denial.I promised to return with the first frost; for this usually kills “Yellow Jack.”“Ah! you will not be here so soon?” said Adele, in a tone that pretended to be pensive. “You will like Saint Louis too well to leave it. Perhaps when you have seen Olympe—”“And what of Olympe?”“She is beautiful—she is rich—”“Those are qualities that more concern your brother; and if I should make love to Olympe, it will only be as his proxy.”“Ha! ha! a perilous prospect for poor Luis!”“Oh, no! Luis need fear no rival; but, jesting apart, I should be glad to enter into a little covenant with him.”“A covenant?”“Yes—the terms of which would be, that in Saint Louis I should use all my interest in his favour, while he should here reciprocate, by employing his in mine.”“In what quarter, Monsieur?”“Here,at home.”Adele’s dark brown eyes rolled upon me a moment, as if in innocent astonishment; and then, suddenly changing their expression, they danced and sparkled to a peal of merry laughter, which ended in the words:—“Au revoir! la première gelée, adieu! adieu!” Luis was outside, waiting to accompany me to the boat; and, returning the adieu somewhat confusedly, I hurried up the steps of the verandah, and joined him.In another hour I was upon the broad bosom of the “Father of Waters,” breasting his mighty current towards its far distant source.

Casey’s views were commercial, and New Orleans was not the place where a display of spirit would be likely to damage his prospects. It appeared rather to have an opposite effect; for, before his arm was well out of the sling, I had the gratification to learn that he had received an appointment in one of the large cotton commission houses—a calling sufficiently suited to his temperament.

My own object in visiting the Western World was less definite. I was of that age when travel is attractive—young enough to afford a few years offar nientebefore entering upon the more serious pursuits of life. In short, I had no object beyond idleness and sight-seeing; and in either way, a month or two may be passed in New Orleans without much danger of suffering fromennui.

My stay in the “Crescent City” extended to a period of full three months. A pleasant hospitality induced me to prolong it beyond what I had originally intended: and the dispenser of this hospitality was no other than Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.

Notwithstanding thebizarrerieof its beginning, our acquaintance soon grew into friendship; for the southern heart is of free and quick expansion, as the flowers of its clime, and its affection as rapidly ripens. There the friendship of a single month is often as strong—ay, and as lasting too—as that which results from years of intercourse under the cold ceremonies of old world life.

In a month De Hauteroche and I were bosom friends; and scarcely a day passed that we did not see each other, scarcely three that we were not companions in some boating or hunting excursion—somefête champêtreamong his Creole acquaintances, the hospitable planters of the “coast,”—at thebal-masque, or in the boxes of the “Théatre Français.”

In the morning hours I often visited him at his place of business—for business he did not altogether neglect—in the Rue Royale; but more frequently in the evening at his private residence—the pretty little “cabane,” as he called it, with its glass door windows and vine-loaded verandahs, in the adjoining street of the Rue Bourgogne.

This charming spot had a peculiar attraction for me. Was it the company of De Hauteroche himself or that of Adele, his fair sister, that drew me so often thither? It must have been one or the other—for excepting the dark-skinned domestics, the two were the only inmates of the house. I relished much the conversation of my young Creole friend—perhaps still more, the music which his sister understood how to produce upon her harp and guitar. Especially did the notes of the harp vibrate pleasantly upon my ear; and the picture of a fair maiden seated in front of that noble stringed instrument, soon impressed itself on my spirit, whether awake or dreaming. Adele became the vision of my dreams.

Without designing it, I soon became acquainted with the family history of my new friends. It was but the natural consequence of the confidential intercourse that had sprung up between us.

They were the orphan children of an officer of the Napoleonic army—anancien-colonelof artillery—who, after the defeat of Waterloo, surrendered up his sword and sought an asylum in the Far West. He was but one of many, who, at that time, deprived of the patronage of their great leader, becameemigrésby a sort of voluntary exile, finding in the French settlements of the New World—Louisiana among the rest—a kindred and congenial home.

In the case of Hauteroche, however, the habits of the military man had not fitted him either for a commercial life or that of a planter. His affairs had not prospered—and at his death, which had occurred but the year before—he had left his children little other inheritance than that of an excellent education and a spotless name.

Far otherwise had it been with a comrade who accompanied him in his exile—a brother officer of his regiment and a devoted bosom friend. The latter preferring the cooler climate of Saint Louis, had gone up the river and settled there.

He was a Norman, and his young wife had accompanied him. With the stauncher qualities of this race, he had devoted himself to commercial pursuits; and his perseverance was rewarded by the acquirement of an ample fortune—which, with his wife—also of Norman family—and an only daughter, he was now enjoying in opulent retirement.

The almost fraternal friendship of the two ex-officers was not extinguished by their altered mode of life; but, on the contrary, it continued as warm as ever during the period of their residence in the New World. Annually the “crate” of oranges from the south was sent up to Saint Louis, and as often was the barrel of apples or walnuts—the produce of the more temperate clime—despatched in the opposite direction—a pleasant interchange of presents effected by the medium of the mighty Mississippi.

A personal intercourse, too, was at intervals renewed. Every two or three years the old colonel had indulged himself with a ramble on the prairies which lie contiguous to the settlements of Saint Louis, while his brother officer, at like intervals, reciprocated the visit by a trip to the great southern metropolis, thus in a very convenient manner combining the opportunities of business and pleasure.

Under these circumstances it was natural that the families of De Hauteroche and Dardonville should be affectionately attached to each other, and such was in reality the case. I was constantly hearing of the latter—of the goodness of Madame Dardonville—of the beauty of Olympe.

It was nearly three years since either De Hauteroche or his sister had seen their Saint Louis friends. Olympe, as was alleged, was then but a child; but the fervour with which the young avocat descanted upon her merits, led me to suspect that in his eyes at least, she had reached a very interesting period of her childhood. Now and then the merry badinage of his sister on this point, bringing the colour to his cheeks, confirmed me in the suspicion.

My new acquaintances had admitted me as a link into the chain of their happy circle; and for three months I enjoyed, almost without interruption, its pleasant hospitality.

It became a spell that was hard to break; and when the hour of leave-taking arrived, I looked upon it as a painful necessity—though my absence did not promise to be a prolonged one.

The necessity was one of sufficient urgency. A July sun was glaring from the sky, and the yellow spectre had entered the Crescent City, upon its annual visit of devastation.

Already had it begun its ghastly work, and here and there presented itself in horrid mien. In those Faubourgs where dwelt the less opulent of the population, I observed traces of its presence; that symbol of terrible significance—the red cross upon the closed door—telling too plainly that the destroyer had been there.

It would have been madness for me to have remained amidst a pestilence, from which it was so easy to escape. Twenty hours upon a fast boat, and I should be clear of the danger: and among the up-river towns I might make choice of an asylum.

Four large cities—Pittsburg, Louisville, Cincinatti, and Saint Louis—lay beyond the latitude of the epidemic: all easy of access. In any of these I might find a luxurious home; but I longed to look upon those boundless fields of green, for years the idol of my youthful fancy; and I knew that Saint Louis was the gate that guided to them. Thither, then, was I bound.

With regret I parted from my Creole friends. They had no need to fly or fear the scourge. Acclimatised in the middle of that vastmarais, its malaria had for them neither terror nor danger. Immunity from both was their birthright, and New Orleans was their home throughout the year: though during the months of intolerable heat and utter stagnation of business, it was their habit to reside in one of the numerous summer retreats found upon the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.

I was in hopes they would have accompanied me to Saint Louis, and I endeavoured to induce them to do so.

Luis seemed desirous, and yet declined! I knew not the delicate reason that influenced him to this self-denial.

I promised to return with the first frost; for this usually kills “Yellow Jack.”

“Ah! you will not be here so soon?” said Adele, in a tone that pretended to be pensive. “You will like Saint Louis too well to leave it. Perhaps when you have seen Olympe—”

“And what of Olympe?”

“She is beautiful—she is rich—”

“Those are qualities that more concern your brother; and if I should make love to Olympe, it will only be as his proxy.”

“Ha! ha! a perilous prospect for poor Luis!”

“Oh, no! Luis need fear no rival; but, jesting apart, I should be glad to enter into a little covenant with him.”

“A covenant?”

“Yes—the terms of which would be, that in Saint Louis I should use all my interest in his favour, while he should here reciprocate, by employing his in mine.”

“In what quarter, Monsieur?”

“Here,at home.”

Adele’s dark brown eyes rolled upon me a moment, as if in innocent astonishment; and then, suddenly changing their expression, they danced and sparkled to a peal of merry laughter, which ended in the words:—“Au revoir! la première gelée, adieu! adieu!” Luis was outside, waiting to accompany me to the boat; and, returning the adieu somewhat confusedly, I hurried up the steps of the verandah, and joined him.

In another hour I was upon the broad bosom of the “Father of Waters,” breasting his mighty current towards its far distant source.

Story 2, Chapter VIII.The Villa Dardonville.Soon after my arrival in Saint Louis, I called upon the Dardonvilles, and presented my letter of introduction. It was a sealed document, and I knew not the nature of its contents; but from the effect produced I must have been the bearer of strong credentials. It placed me at once on a footing of intimacy with the friends of my friends.The family did not reside in town, but at the distance of a mile or so from it. Their villa stood upon a high bluff of the river, commanding a view of the broad noble stream, and beyond the wooded lowlands of Illinois, stretching like a sea of bluish green to the far eastern horizon.Nothing could exceed the attractions of this transatlantic home; and the many visitors whom I met there, proved that they were appreciated. Dardonville, now rich, had retired from mercantile life, and offered a profuse hospitality to his friends. Need I say that he had troops of them?From the character of much of the company that I met there, it was easy to see what was the chief object of attraction. It was not the wines, his luxurious dinners, nor the joys of thefête champêtre, that brought to the villa Dardonville so many of the choice youth of the neighbourhood—the sons of rich planters and merchants—the young officers of the near military post. There was an influence far more powerful than these—Olympe.Olympe was an heiress—a beauty—a belle.In truth she was a lovely creature—one of those blonde, golden-haired beings, that appear to bring earth and heaven together, uniting in soft sweet harmony the form of a woman with the spirit of an angel.She was still only a girl; but the precocity of that sunny clime promised the early development of her perfect form, already distinguished by charms of which she alone appeared unconscious.It would have been no difficult matter to have fallen in love with Olympe—a far greater feat to have kept one’s heart clear; and I rather congratulated myself that mine was already occupied. Happy might be the man who should be honoured by the first passionate throbbings of that young virginal bosom; but wretched he who shouldvainlyaspire to that honour.Perhaps it was my indifference that made me the favourite of Madame Dardonville; or was there something in the letter of my Creole friend that introduced me to her confidence? I knew not; but from the hour of my arrival this good lady admitted me to the intimacy of a confidential friendship.Through this confidence I soon became acquainted with the conjugal destiny of the lovely Olympe—so far as that could be controlled by the will of her parents. Louis De Hauteroche needed no backer in me. Notwithstanding his numerous and richer rivals, there was not much to fear, with such influence in his favour. Above all, the heart of Olympe was still free. I rejoiced on learning this; for seeing this fair young creature beset by so many suitors—too young to receive proposals—I trembled for the fate of my friend. Madame Dardonville, however, was a good “duenna;” and as for the retired merchant andancien lieutenant, he had no idea of any danger. It was his design, and had been for years, that Olympe should marry Luis de Hauteroche, the son of his old comrade and friend—the son of his early benefactor, as he declared to me in the warmth of his amical enthusiasm, when we were one day conversing on the subject.“Yes,” exclaimed he, “De Hauteroche is poor—so was his father before him; but De Hauteroche was a gentleman of noble race, Monsieur—a true gentleman—and Luis must be—how could it be otherwise?”I assured him it was my own belief; and in answer to many a question put both by Monsieur and Madame, I found the opportunity of making some slight return for the many kindnesses of my Creole friend. Had I made the covenant with Adele, I could not have been more zealous in carrying out my share of its conditions.Such was the position I held in the Dardonville family previous to my starting for the prairies.My excursion extended to the country of the “Crows,” and occupied a period of over three months. I also had the honour of an interview with the redoubtable “Blackfeet” and the good fortune not to leave my scalp in the hands of these Ishmaelites of the prairies. I do not here intend to detail to my reader the incidents of my prairie life. They have no bearing upon our narrative. I need only remark, that during my three months’ residence in the wilderness I had no communication whatever with the civilised world, and never heard from any of the friends I had left behind on either side of the Atlantic. On my return to Saint Louis, therefore, I found many items of news awaiting me—one of the most unexpected being the death of Monsieur Dardonville! Congestive fever, after a short illness, had carried him off—not much beyond the prime of life, and just when he had accomplished a position of opulent independence. This is not an uncommon fate with men who seek rest and retirement after a life of continued activity.My intimacy with the family suffered no interruption from this melancholy occurrence, though of course its character was somewhat changed. But Madame Dardonville was as friendly as ever—even more so I fancied—and for the few weeks that I remained at Saint Louis, she pressed me to accept almost a constant hospitality. General society was no longer received at the villa: only those friends whose intimacy was of long standing.That I had won Madame Dardonville’s confidence, must be attributed to my relations with Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche; and to the same, no doubt, was I indebted for a singular secret that was entrusted to me on the eve of my departure for New Orleans. It was to the effect that her husband had made a most curious will—by which one half of his estate was left to his widow, the other to his daughter. There was nothing remarkable about this partition of the property, and it appeared to me to be equitable enough: but it was in another point that the will was oddly conditioned. This was, that in the event of Luis De Hauteroche offering to marry Olympe, the latter should not be free to refuse, except under forfeiture of the legacy left her by her father; and this was to become the property of Luis De Hauteroche himself! In other words, the daughter of Dardonville was left by legacy to the son of his old friend—on such conditions as were likely to lead her to their acceptance, while young De Hauteroche was comparatively free in his choice. This I was assured by Madame Dardonville was the fruits of a profound gratitude for some early favour, which her husband had received at the hands of his former comrade De Hauteroche.I thought it a fortunate circumstance, that the parties interested in this strange document were not likely to offer any opposition to its terms and conditions. It would prove only an idle instrument, and perhaps in a few months the writing contained in it would be no longer of any significance. My friend Luis would inherit the property of the rich merchant, and marry his daughter to boot. That would be the end of it.I was curious to know if De Hauteroche had not yet heard of the fortune thus strangely conditioned to him, and I asked the question. The reply was “Not yet.” There were reasons why he had not been told of it. But there was no longer any object in keeping the secret from him, and the Madame informed me that she had just written to him, enclosing a copy of her husband’s will, and giving him a full explanation of her views upon the subject.This conversation occurred upon the day before my departure from Saint Louis. Madame Dardonville had dispatched her letter by mail. She expressed regret at not having entrusted it to me, but she was not apprised of my intention of leaving so soon. Indeed it was hastily taken.La premier gelée—the first frost had made its appearance, and I remembered my promise.As I bade my adieus at the Villa Dardonville, the Madame also extracted a promise from me—to the effect that I should not speak of what she had told me—even to Luis himself. She was desirous that things should take their natural course.

Soon after my arrival in Saint Louis, I called upon the Dardonvilles, and presented my letter of introduction. It was a sealed document, and I knew not the nature of its contents; but from the effect produced I must have been the bearer of strong credentials. It placed me at once on a footing of intimacy with the friends of my friends.

The family did not reside in town, but at the distance of a mile or so from it. Their villa stood upon a high bluff of the river, commanding a view of the broad noble stream, and beyond the wooded lowlands of Illinois, stretching like a sea of bluish green to the far eastern horizon.

Nothing could exceed the attractions of this transatlantic home; and the many visitors whom I met there, proved that they were appreciated. Dardonville, now rich, had retired from mercantile life, and offered a profuse hospitality to his friends. Need I say that he had troops of them?

From the character of much of the company that I met there, it was easy to see what was the chief object of attraction. It was not the wines, his luxurious dinners, nor the joys of thefête champêtre, that brought to the villa Dardonville so many of the choice youth of the neighbourhood—the sons of rich planters and merchants—the young officers of the near military post. There was an influence far more powerful than these—Olympe.

Olympe was an heiress—a beauty—a belle.

In truth she was a lovely creature—one of those blonde, golden-haired beings, that appear to bring earth and heaven together, uniting in soft sweet harmony the form of a woman with the spirit of an angel.

She was still only a girl; but the precocity of that sunny clime promised the early development of her perfect form, already distinguished by charms of which she alone appeared unconscious.

It would have been no difficult matter to have fallen in love with Olympe—a far greater feat to have kept one’s heart clear; and I rather congratulated myself that mine was already occupied. Happy might be the man who should be honoured by the first passionate throbbings of that young virginal bosom; but wretched he who shouldvainlyaspire to that honour.

Perhaps it was my indifference that made me the favourite of Madame Dardonville; or was there something in the letter of my Creole friend that introduced me to her confidence? I knew not; but from the hour of my arrival this good lady admitted me to the intimacy of a confidential friendship.

Through this confidence I soon became acquainted with the conjugal destiny of the lovely Olympe—so far as that could be controlled by the will of her parents. Louis De Hauteroche needed no backer in me. Notwithstanding his numerous and richer rivals, there was not much to fear, with such influence in his favour. Above all, the heart of Olympe was still free. I rejoiced on learning this; for seeing this fair young creature beset by so many suitors—too young to receive proposals—I trembled for the fate of my friend. Madame Dardonville, however, was a good “duenna;” and as for the retired merchant andancien lieutenant, he had no idea of any danger. It was his design, and had been for years, that Olympe should marry Luis de Hauteroche, the son of his old comrade and friend—the son of his early benefactor, as he declared to me in the warmth of his amical enthusiasm, when we were one day conversing on the subject.

“Yes,” exclaimed he, “De Hauteroche is poor—so was his father before him; but De Hauteroche was a gentleman of noble race, Monsieur—a true gentleman—and Luis must be—how could it be otherwise?”

I assured him it was my own belief; and in answer to many a question put both by Monsieur and Madame, I found the opportunity of making some slight return for the many kindnesses of my Creole friend. Had I made the covenant with Adele, I could not have been more zealous in carrying out my share of its conditions.

Such was the position I held in the Dardonville family previous to my starting for the prairies.

My excursion extended to the country of the “Crows,” and occupied a period of over three months. I also had the honour of an interview with the redoubtable “Blackfeet” and the good fortune not to leave my scalp in the hands of these Ishmaelites of the prairies. I do not here intend to detail to my reader the incidents of my prairie life. They have no bearing upon our narrative. I need only remark, that during my three months’ residence in the wilderness I had no communication whatever with the civilised world, and never heard from any of the friends I had left behind on either side of the Atlantic. On my return to Saint Louis, therefore, I found many items of news awaiting me—one of the most unexpected being the death of Monsieur Dardonville! Congestive fever, after a short illness, had carried him off—not much beyond the prime of life, and just when he had accomplished a position of opulent independence. This is not an uncommon fate with men who seek rest and retirement after a life of continued activity.

My intimacy with the family suffered no interruption from this melancholy occurrence, though of course its character was somewhat changed. But Madame Dardonville was as friendly as ever—even more so I fancied—and for the few weeks that I remained at Saint Louis, she pressed me to accept almost a constant hospitality. General society was no longer received at the villa: only those friends whose intimacy was of long standing.

That I had won Madame Dardonville’s confidence, must be attributed to my relations with Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche; and to the same, no doubt, was I indebted for a singular secret that was entrusted to me on the eve of my departure for New Orleans. It was to the effect that her husband had made a most curious will—by which one half of his estate was left to his widow, the other to his daughter. There was nothing remarkable about this partition of the property, and it appeared to me to be equitable enough: but it was in another point that the will was oddly conditioned. This was, that in the event of Luis De Hauteroche offering to marry Olympe, the latter should not be free to refuse, except under forfeiture of the legacy left her by her father; and this was to become the property of Luis De Hauteroche himself! In other words, the daughter of Dardonville was left by legacy to the son of his old friend—on such conditions as were likely to lead her to their acceptance, while young De Hauteroche was comparatively free in his choice. This I was assured by Madame Dardonville was the fruits of a profound gratitude for some early favour, which her husband had received at the hands of his former comrade De Hauteroche.

I thought it a fortunate circumstance, that the parties interested in this strange document were not likely to offer any opposition to its terms and conditions. It would prove only an idle instrument, and perhaps in a few months the writing contained in it would be no longer of any significance. My friend Luis would inherit the property of the rich merchant, and marry his daughter to boot. That would be the end of it.

I was curious to know if De Hauteroche had not yet heard of the fortune thus strangely conditioned to him, and I asked the question. The reply was “Not yet.” There were reasons why he had not been told of it. But there was no longer any object in keeping the secret from him, and the Madame informed me that she had just written to him, enclosing a copy of her husband’s will, and giving him a full explanation of her views upon the subject.

This conversation occurred upon the day before my departure from Saint Louis. Madame Dardonville had dispatched her letter by mail. She expressed regret at not having entrusted it to me, but she was not apprised of my intention of leaving so soon. Indeed it was hastily taken.La premier gelée—the first frost had made its appearance, and I remembered my promise.

As I bade my adieus at the Villa Dardonville, the Madame also extracted a promise from me—to the effect that I should not speak of what she had told me—even to Luis himself. She was desirous that things should take their natural course.

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