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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Saint-Prosper has come back, and he's going to marry Constance!" "Eh? What? I don't be Who told you?" demanded the count, sharply. "Well, you needn't take my head off! She did, if you want to know." "Miss Carew?" "Herself!" The nobleman lolled back in his chair, a dark look on his face. Here were fine hopes gone a-glimmering! "Pardie! the creditors will have to wait awhile," he thought.
"I didn't know," he added with an outburst of honesty, "but what you might be some nobleman in disguise." "A nobleman!" said the other with ill-concealed contempt. "My name is Saint-Prosper; plain Ernest Saint-Prosper. I was a soldier. Now I'm an adventurer. There you have it all in a nut-shell." The inn-keeper surveyed his guest's figure with undisguised admiration.
But here we are at the supervisor's office. I'll run in and get the license, if you'll wait a moment." Saint-Prosper assented, and Barnes disappeared through the door of a one-story wooden building which boasted little in its architectural appearance and whose principal decorations consisted of a small window-garden containing faded geraniums, and a sign with sundry inverted letters.
Menacing and abusive, as the vehicle stopped, the warder's hand sought one of his pockets, when the young girl impetuously caught his arm, clinging to it tenaciously. "Quick! Mr. Saint-Prosper!" she cried, recognizing, as she thought, the voice of the soldier. "You wild-cat!" her jailer exclaimed, struggling to throw her off. Not succeeding, he raised his free arm in a flurry of invective.
As Saint-Prosper approached the tavern, set prominently on the brow of the hill, all was solemnly restful save the sign which now creaked in doleful doldrums and again complained wildly as the wind struck it a vigorous blow.
Saint-Prosper returned the manager's glance in kind; Barnes' candor and simplicity were apparent antidotes to the other's taciturnity and constraint.
Adjusting some fancied disorder of hair or bonnet. "Marriage is a fountain of youth for" with a sigh "old maids. Susan Duran, spinster! Horrible! Do you blame me?" "For getting married? Not at all. Who is the fortunate man?" asked Saint-Prosper. "A minister; an orthodox minister; a most orthodox minister!" "No?" His countenance expressed his sense of the incongruity of the union.
"I don't see what your visit portends," said Saint-Prosper, "unless there is some other matter?" "Just so," returned Culver, his doubts vanishing. "There was a small matter a slight commission. Miss Carew requested me to hand you this message." The visitor now detected a marked change in the soldier's imperturbable bearing, as the latter took the envelope which the attorney offered him.
A knock at the door rudely dispelled these memories. For a moment the manager looked startled, as one abruptly called back to his immediate surroundings; then the pen fell from his hand, and he pushed the book from him to the center of the table. "Come in," he said. The door opened and Saint-Prosper entered. "Am I interrupting you?" asked the soldier, glancing at the littered table.
"I had already made up my mind. Let it be the western gate, then." And thus was brought to a close one of the most memorable councils of war, for it determined the fate of the City of Mexico. Saint-Prosper looked older than when seen in New Orleans, as though he had endured much in that brief but hard campaign.
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