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Updated: June 17, 2025
Soon the man reappeared with the refreshments and a bottle of old-fashioned, substantial girth, which he uncorked with marked solicitude. "Where are the oly-koeks?" exclaimed the heir. The watchman pointed to a great dish of dark blue willow-ware pattern. "Oh, doughnuts!" said Mauville. "You know where the family lawyer lives? Have my man drive you to his house and bring him here at once."
A fierce new anger gleamed from the soldier's eyes, completely transforming his expression and bearing. His glance quickly swept from the count to Mauville at the studied insult of the latter's words; on his cheek burned a dark red spot. "Let it go on!" The count stepped nimbly from his position between the two men. Again the swords crossed.
And moving from the mantel upon which he was leaning, Mauville strode to the table and untied the envelope. A dusty window looking out upon a dusty thoroughfare; a dusty room, lighted by the dusty window, and revealing a dusty chair, a dusty carpet and probably a dusty bed! Over the foot and the head of the bed the lodger's wardrobe lay carelessly thrown.
There is an aphorism to the effect that one can not spend and have; also, a saying about the whirlwind, both of which in time came home to the land baron. For several generations the Mauville family, bearing one of the proudest names in Louisiana, had held marked prestige under Spanish and French rule, while extensive plantations indicated the commercial ascendency of the patroon's ancestors.
"You are surprised to see me?" continued Mauville, pleasantly, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "Go on with your supper. You don't mind my smoking while you eat?" "No; the odor of onions is a little strong, isn't it?" laughed the other.
Murmuring some excuse to his unconscious companion and cutting short the wiry old lady's reminiscences of the first public trotting race in 1818, the soldier left the box, and, moving with some difficulty through the crowd, met Mauville in the aisle near the stairway.
"Miss Carew!" exclaimed a well-remembered voice. Bewildered, breathing quickly, she gazed from Edward Mauville, who thus unexpectedly accosted her, to the prostrate form, lying motionless on the road. The rude awakening from her day-dream in the hush of that peaceful place, and the surprising sequence had dazed her senses, and, for the moment, it seemed something tragic must have happened.
The land baron's smile revealed withering contempt, as with eyes bright with suppressed excitement, and his face unusually sallow, he joined the group. "The end of it!" he repeated, fixing his glance upon the captious dandy. "The beginning, you mean! The beginning of her triumphs!" "Oh, have your own way!" answered the disconcerted critic. Mauville deliberately turned his back.
But he bore himself with the easy assurance of a man who could adapt himself to any surroundings; even to Calliope's shabby boudoir! "My dear," remarked the disconcerted bard, "get a chair for Mr. Mauville. Or I beg your pardon would you mind sitting on the bed? Won't you have some wine? Celestina, bring another glass."
Mauville," said a colored servant, hurrying toward the land baron as the latter was leaving. "I've changed my mind and don't want it," replied the other curtly.
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