on-in-law were the last of their names. In Louisiana a man
needs kinsfolk. He ought to have married his daughter into a strong
house. They say that Numa Grandissime (Honore's father) and he had
patched up a peace between the two families that included even old
Agricola, and that he could have married her to a Grandissime. However,
he is supposed to have known what he was about.

"A matter of business called young Nancanou to New Orleans. He had no
friends here; he was a Creole, but what part of his life had not been
spent on his plantation he had passed in Europe. He could not leave his
young girl of a wife alone in that exiled sort of plantation life, so he
brought her and the child (a girl) down with him as far as to her
father's place, left them there, and came on to the city alone.

"Now, what does the old man do but give him a letter of introduction to
old Agricole Fusilier! (His name is Agricola, but we shorten it to
Agricole.) It seems that old De Grapion and Agricole had had the
indiscretion to scrape up a mutually complimentary correspondence. And
to Agricole the young man went.

"They became intimate at once, drank together, danced with the quadroons
together, and got into as much mischief in three days as I ever did in a
fortnight. So affairs went on until by and by they were gambling
together. One night they were at the Piety Club, playing hard, and the
planter lost his last quarti. He became desperate, and did a thing I
have known more than one planter to do: wrote his pledge for every
arpent of his land and every slave on it, and staked that. Agricole
refused to play. 'You shall play,' said Nancanou, and when the game was
ended he said: 'Monsieur Agricola Fusilier, you cheated.' You see? Just
as I have frequently been tempted to remark to my friend, Mr.
Frowenfeld.

"But, Frowenfeld, you must know, withal the Creoles are such gamblers,
they never cheat; they play absolutely fair. So Agricole had to
challenge the planter. He could not be blamed for that; there was no
choice--oh, now, Frowenfeld, keep quiet! I tell you there was no choice.
And the fellow was no coward. He sent Agricole a clear title to the real
estate and slaves,--lacking only the wife's signature,--accepted the
challenge and fell dead at the first fire.

"Stop, now, and let me finish. Agricole sat down and wrote to the widow
that he did not wish to deprive her of her home, and that if she would
state in writing her belief that the stak