car
directly behind a smoking monster, with an enormous chimney, fed with
cord-wood, he was borne over the land, and another puffing marvel of
different construction carried him over the water. Reaching the
Crescent City some time before the strollers--his progress expedited
by a locomotive that ran full twenty miles an hour!--the land baron
found among the latest floating population, comprised of all sorts and
conditions, the Marquis de Ligne. The blood of the patroons flowed
sluggishly through the land baron's veins, but his French extraction
danced in every fiber of his being. After learning the more important
and not altogether discreditable circumstances about the land baron's
ancestors--for if every gentleman were whipped for godlessness, how
many striped backs would there be!--the marquis, who declined intimacy
with Tom, Dick and Harry, and their honest butchers, bakers and
candlestick-makers of forefathers, permitted an acquaintance that
accorded with his views governing social intercourse.

"This is a genuine pleasure, Monsieur le Marquis," observed the land
baron suavely, when the two found themselves seated in a card room
with brandy and soda before them. "To meet a nobleman of the old
school is indeed welcome in these days when New Orleans harbors the
refugees of the world, for, strive as we will, outsiders are creeping
in and corrupting our best circles."

"Soon we shall all be corrupt," croaked the old man. "France--but what
can you expect of a nation that exiles kings!"

"Ah, Louis Philippe! My father once entertained him here in New
Orleans," said Mauville.

"Indeed?" remarked the marquis with interest.

"It was when he visited the city in 1798 with his brothers, the Duke
of Montpensier and the Count of Beaujolais. New Orleans then did not
belong to America. France was not so eager to sell her fair
possessions in those days. I remember my father often speaking of the
royal visit. The king even borrowed money, which"--laughing--"he
forgot to pay!"

The marquis' face was a study, as he returned stiffly: "Sir, it is a
king's privilege to borrow."

"It is his immortal prerogative," answered Mauville easily. "I only
mentioned it to show how highly he honored my father."

The nobleman lifted his eyebrows, steadily regarding his companion.

"It was a great honor," he said softly. "One does not lend to a king.
When Louis Philippe borrowed from your father he lent luster to your
ancestry."

"Yes; I