"My-de'-seh," exclaimed M. Grandissime, suddenly becoming very earnest,
"I am nothing, nothing! There is where you have the advantage of me. I
am but a _dilettante_, whether in politics, in philosophy, morals, or
religion. I am afraid to go deeply into anything, lest it should make
ruin in my name, my family, my property."

He laughed unpleasantly.

The question darted into Frowenfeld's mind, whether this might not be a
hint of the matter that M. Grandissime had been trying to see him about.

"Mr. Grandissime," he said, "I can hardly believe you would neglect a
duty either for family, property, or society."

"Well, you mistake," said the Creole, so coldly that Frowenfeld colored.

They galloped on. M. Grandissime brightened again, almost to the degree
of vivacity. By and by they slackened to a slow trot and were silent.
The gardens had been long left behind, and they were passing between
continuous Cherokee-rose hedges on the right and on the left, along that
bend of the Mississippi where its waters, glancing off three miles above
from the old De Macarty levee (now Carrollton), at the slightest
opposition in the breeze go whirling and leaping like a herd of
dervishes across to the ever-crumbling shore, now marked by the little
yellow depot-house of Westwego. Miles up the broad flood the sun was
disappearing gorgeously. From their saddles, the two horsemen feasted on
the scene without comment.

But presently, M. Grandissime uttered a low ejaculation and spurred his
horse toward a tree hard by, preparing, as he went, to fasten his rein
to an overhanging branch. Frowenfeld, agreeable to his beckon, imitated
the movement.

"I fear he intends to drown himself," whispered M. Grandissime, as they
hurriedly dismounted.

"Who? Not--"

"Yes, your landlord, as you call him. He is on the flatboat; I saw his
hat over the levee. When we get on top the levee, we must get right into
it. But do not follow him into the water in front of the flat; it is
certain death; no power of man could keep you from going under it."

The words were quickly spoken; they scrambled to the levee's crown. Just
abreast of them lay a flatboat, emptied of its cargo and moored to the
levee. They leaped into it. A human figure swerved from the onset of the
Creole and ran toward the bow of the boat, and in an instant more would
have been in the river.

"Stop!" said Frowenfeld, seizing the unresisting f.m.c. firmly by the
collar.

Honore Grandissi