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Updated: June 17, 2025
"He has gone off with the girl," put in Colonel Chouteau, laughing. "But where?" I said, with growing anger at this lack of consideration on Nick's part. "I'll warrant that Gaspard or Hippolyte Beaujais will know, if they can be found," said the Colonel. "Neither of them willingly lets the girl out of his sight."
Striving to hide my uneasiness, I made my farewells to Madame Chouteau's sons and daughters and their friends, and with Colonel Chouteau I left the hall and began to walk towards Monsieur Gratiot's, hoping against hope that Nick had gone there to change.
But he went off to see what was going on, while Chouteau, the company artist, house-painter by trade at Belleville, something of a dandy and a revolutionary republican, exasperated against the government for having called him back to the colors after he had served his time, was cruelly chaffing Pache, whom he had discovered on his knees, behind the tent, preparing to say his prayers.
He would have been willing to give his blood for a pound of bread. As it was beginning to be dark Pache stealthily made his way to the Tour a Glaire and slipped into the park, while the three others cautiously followed him at a distance. "It won't do to let him suspect anything," said Chouteau. "Be on your guard in case he should look around."
Those who reached the steps gave back, respectfully, and there came an elderly lady in a sober turban, a black mantilla wrapped tightly about her shoulders, and I made no doubt that she was Monsieur Gratiot's mother-in-law, Madame Chouteau, she whom he had jestingly called the queen regent. I was sure of this when I saw Madame Gratiot behind her.
Chouteau and Loubet jumped to their feet simultaneously, anticipating the others, seized the sergeant, one of them by the shoulders, the other by the legs, and bore him away on a run. They had gone but a little way, however, when they felt the body becoming rigid in the final convulsion; he was dying. "I say, he's dead," exclaimed Loubet. "Let's leave him here."
Lapoulle laughed over it as if he would split his sides, while Chouteau and the others, without expressing the faintest doubt, chuckled at the idea that soon they would be picking up Prussians as boys pick up sparrows in a field after a hail-storm. But they laughed loudest at old Bismarck's accident; oh! the zouaves and the turcos, they were the boys for one's money!
While these things were going on within the house Loubet outside had discovered a field of potatoes; he and Lapoulle scaled the fence and were digging the precious tubers with their hands and stuffing their pockets with them when Chouteau, who in the pursuit of knowledge was looking over a low wall, gave a shrill whistle that called them hurriedly to his side.
Three days later, the voyagers met a trading-boat belonging to Mr. Augustus Chouteau, the founder of a famous trading-house in St. Louis. From this party the captains procured a gallon of whiskey, and with this they served out a dram to each of their men. "This," says the journal, "is the first spirituous liquor any of them have tasted since the Fourth of July, 1805."
But Chouteau scolded: "They don't value us at a brass farthing, and that's why they let us wait this way. We were here first; why didn't we take the road while it was empty?"
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