use-a me, senors," said a soft, musical voice, and a young man with
a Spanish face and pink cheeks was bowing before them. "I t'ink you
need-a to be tole 'bout it."

"Told about what?" demanded Frank, who took an instant dislike to this
softly smiling fellow with the womanish voice and gentle ways. "What do
you mean?"

"Excuse-a me," repeated the stranger, who was gaudily dressed in many
colors. "Yo' are strangar-a-rs from de Noath, an' yo' do not know-a de
men what you have a de troub' wid. Excuse-a me; I am Manuel Mazaro, an'
I know-a dem. De young man is son of de ver' reech Senor Roderick
Raymon', dat everybody in New Orle'n know. He is ver' wile--ver'
reckless. Ha! He love-a to fight, an' he has been in two duel, dough he
is ver' young. But de odare, senors--de man wid de white mustache--ah!"

Manuel Mazaro threw up his hands with an expression that plainly said
words failed him.

"Well, what of the other?" asked Frank, impatiently.

"Senors," purred Mazaro, "he is de wor-r-rst fightar ever leeve! He
like-a to fight fo' de sport of keelin'. Take-a my advice, senors, an'
go 'way from New Orle'n'. Yo' make ver' gre't mistake to get in troub'
wid dem."

"Thank you for your kind advice," said Frank, quietly. "I presume it is
well meant, but it is wasted. This is a free country, and a dozen
fire-eaters like Colonel La Salle Vallier and Mr. Rolf Raymond cannot
drive us out of New Orleans till we are ready to go. Eh, professor?"

"Well, I guess not!" rumbled the little man, stiffening up and looking
as fierce as he could.

"Oh, ver' well, ver' well," said Mazaro, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost
of a scornful smile on his face. "You know-a your own biz. Good-day,
senors."

"Good-day, sir."

They passed through the crowd and sought their carriage, which was
waiting for them, although the driver had begun to think they had
deserted him.

The procession, which had been broken up by the stampeded steers, was
again forming, making it evident that the pleasure-loving people were
determined that the unfortunate occurrence should not ruin the day.

The Queen of Flowers and her subjects had vanished, and the flower barge
was a wreck, so a part of the programme could not be carried out.

The procession formed without the flower barge, and was soon on its way
once more, the band playing its liveliest tune.

The way was lined with tens of thousands of spectators, while flags
fluttered from every building. All along t