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"Citizens, allow me to introduce to you my old friend, Citizen David Ritchie " "Milles diables!" cried the Citizen St. Gre, seizing me by the hand, "c'est mon cher ami, Monsieur Reetchie. Ver' happy you have this honor, Monsieur;" and snatching his wide-brimmed military cocked hat from his head he made me a smiling, sweeping bow. "What!" cried the General to me, "you know the Sieur de St.
"Ah," said he, "'tis no use tryin' hide from you. However, Monsieur Reetchie, you are the ver' soul of honor. And then your frien'! I know you not betray the Sieur de St. Gre. He is ver' fon' of you." "Betray!" I exclaimed; "there is no question of betrayal. As far as I can see, your plans are carried on openly, with a fine contempt for the Federal government." He shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah," said he, "'tis no use tryin' hide from you. However, Monsieur Reetchie, you are the ver' soul of honor. And then your frien'! I know you not betray the Sieur de St. Gre. He is ver' fon' of you." "Betray!" I exclaimed; "there is no question of betrayal. As far as I can see, your plans are carried on openly, with a fine contempt for the Federal government." He shrugged his shoulders.
"You tek ze air, Monsieur Reetchie?" said he. "You look for some one, yes? You git up too late see him off." I made a swift resolve never to quibble with this man. "So Mr. Temple has gone to New Orleans with the Sieur de St. Gre," I said. Citizen Gignoux laid a fat finger on one side of his great nose. The nose was red and shiny, I remember, and glistened in the sunlight.
I wondered whether he were looking for Nick. He sat himself down in my chair, stretched out his legs, and regarded me with something less than his usual complacency. "I have much laik for you, Monsieur Reetchie," he began, and waved aside my bow of acknowledgment "Before I go away from Louisville I want to spik with you, this is a risson why I am here.
He was a small man, with a little round hand that wriggled out of my grasp; he had a big French nose, bright eyes that popped a little and gave him the habit of looking sidewise, and grizzled, chestnut eyebrows over them. He had a thin-lipped mouth and a round chin. "Citizen Reetchie, is it? I laik to know citizen's name glorified by gran' cause. Reetchie?"
I was just falling into a troubled sleep when a footstep on the gallery startled me back to consciousness. It was followed by a light tap on the door. "Monsieur Reetchie," said a voice. It was Monsieur Auguste. He was not an imposing figure in his nightrail, and by the light of the carefully shaded candle he held in his hand I saw that he had hitherto deceived me in the matter of his calves.
"Michie Reetchie a gallant!" said Xavier. "An incurable," said Nick, "an amazingly clever rogue at device when there is a petticoat in it. Davy, do I do you justice?" Xavier roared again. "Quel maitre!" he said. "Xavier," said Nick, gently taking the tiller out of his hand, "I will teach you how to steer a keel boat." "Mon Dieu," said Xavier, "and who is to pay Michie Gratiot for his fur?
Auguste's voice aroused me. "Ah, Monsieur, is it not a face to love, to adore?" "It is a face to obey," I answered, with some heat, and with more truth than I knew. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur, it is so. It is that mek me love you know not how. You know not what love is, Monsieur Reetchie, you never love laik me. You have not sem risson.
"Michie Reetchie a gallant!" said Xavier. "An incurable," said Nick, "an amazingly clever rogue at device when there is a petticoat in it. Davy, do I do you justice?" Xavier roared again. "Quel maitre!" he said. "Xavier," said Nick, gently taking the tiller out of his hand, "I will teach you how to steer a keel boat." "Mon Dieu," said Xavier, "and who is to pay Michie Gratiot for his fur?
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