``Monsieur,'' he went on, returning to that dignity of mien which marked him, ``my political opinions are too well known that I should make a mystery of them to you.
I was born a Frenchman, I shall die a Frenchman, and Ishall never be happy until Louisiana is French once more.
My great-grandfather, a brother of the Marquis de St.
Gre of that time, and a wild blade enough, came out with D'Iberville.His son, my grandfather, was the Commissary-general of the colony under the Marquis de Vaudreuil.
He sent me to France for my education, where I was introduced at court by my kinsman, the old Marquis, who took a fancy to me and begged me to remain.It was my father's wish that I should return, and I did not disobey him.Ihad scarcely come back, Monsieur, when that abominable secret bargain of Louis the Fifteenth became known, ceding Louisiana to Spain.You may have heard of the revolution which followed here.It was a mild affair, and the remembrance of it makes me smile to this day, though with bitterness.I was five and twenty, hot-headed, and French.
Que voulez-vous?'' and Monsieur de St.Gre shrugged his shoulders.``O'Reilly, the famous Spanish general, came with his men-of-war.Well I remember the days we waited with leaden hearts for the men-of-war to come up from the English turn; and I can see now the cannon frowning from the ports, the grim spars, the high poops crowded with officers, the great anchors splashing the yellow water.
I can hear the chains running.The ships were in line of battle before the town, their flying bridges swung to the levee, and they loomed above us like towering fortresses.
It was dark, Monsieur, such as this afternoon, and we poor French colonists stood huddled in the open space below, waiting for we knew not what.''
He paused, and I started, for the picture he drew had carried me out of myself.
``On the 18th of August, 1769,--well I remember the day,'' Monsieur de St.Gre continued, ``the Spanish troops landed late in the afternoon, twenty-six hundred strong, the artillery rumbling over the bridges, the horses wheeling and rearing.And they drew up as in line of battle in the Place d'Armes,--dragoons, fusileros de montanas, light and heavy infantry.Where were our white cockades then? Fifty guns shook the town, the great O'Reilly limped ashore through the smoke, and Louisiana was lost to France.We had a cowardly governor, Monsieur, whose name is written in the annals of the province in letters of shame.He betrayed Monsieur de St.Gre and others into O'Reilly's hands, and when my father was cast into prison he was seized with such a fit of anger that he died.''
Monsieur de St.Gre was silent.Without, under the eaves of the gallery, a white rain fell, and a steaming moisture arose from the court-yard.
``What I have told you, Monsieur, is common knowledge.Louisiana has been Spanish for twenty years.Ino longer wear the white cockade, for I am older now.''
He smiled.``Strange things are happening in France, and the old order to which I belong'' (he straightened perceptibly) ``seems to be tottering.I have ceased to intrigue, but thank God I have not ceased to pray.Perhaps--who knows?--perhaps I may live to see again the lily of France stirred by the river breeze.''
He fell into a revery, his fine head bent a little, but presently aroused himself and eyed me curiously.I need not say that I felt a strange liking for Monsieur de St.Gre.
``And now, Mr.Ritchie,'' he said, ``will you tell me who you are, and how I can serve you?''
The servant had put the coffee on the table and left the room.Monsieur de St.Gre himself poured me a cup from the dainty, quaintly wrought Louis Quinze coffeepot, graven with the coat of arms of his family.As we sat talking, my admiration for my host increased, for Ifound that he was familiar not only with the situation in Kentucky, but that he also knew far more than I of the principles and personnel of the new government of which General Washington was President.That he had little sympathy with government by the people was natural, for he was a Creole, and behind that a member of an order which detested republics.When we were got beyond these topics the rain had ceased, the night had fallen, the green candles had burned low.And suddenly, as he spoke of Les Isles, I remembered the note Mademoiselle had given me for him, and I apologized for my forgetfulness.He read it, and dropped it with an exclamation.
``My daughter tells me that you have returned to her a miniature which she lost, Monsieur,'' he said.
``I had that pleasure,'' I answered.
``And that--you found this miniature at Madame Bouvet's.Was this the case?'' And he stared hard at me.
I nodded, but for the life of me I could not speak.It seemed an outrage to lie to such a man.He did not answer, but sat lost in thought, drumming with his fingers on the tables until the noise of the slamming of a door aroused him to a listening posture.The sound of subdued voices came from the archway below us, and one of these, from an occasional excited and feminine note, Ithought to be the gardienne's.Monsieur de St.Gre thrust back his chair, and in three strides was at the edge of the gallery.
``Auguste!'' he cried.
Silence.
``Auguste, come up to me at once,'' he said in French.
Another silence, then something that sounded like ``Sapristi!'' a groan from the gardienne, and a step was heard on the stairway.My own discomfort increased, and I would have given much to be in any other place in the world.Auguste had arrived at the head of the steps but was apparently unable to get any farther.
``Bon soir, mon pere,'' he said.
``Like a dutiful son,'' said Monsieur de St.Gre, ``you heard I was in town, and called to pay your respects, I am sure.I am delighted to find you.In fact, I came to town for that purpose.''
``Lisette--'' began Auguste.
``Thought that I did not wish to be disturbed, no doubt,'' said his father.``Walk in, Auguste.''
