er babe in the cradle.

"Another page of history, my chicks!" he observed. "Worthy of the song
of Pindar!"

"Why not Straws or Phazma?" queried the surgeon, looking up from his
task.

"Would you have the press take up the affair? There are already people
who talk of abolishing dueling. When they do they will abolish
reputation with it. And what's a gentleman got but his honor--demme!"
And the royal emissary carefully brushed a crimson stain from the
bespattered saint.

By this time the land baron had regained consciousness, and, his
wounds temporarily bandaged, walked, with the assistance of the count,
to his carriage. As they were about to drive away the sound of a
vehicle was heard drawing near, and soon it appeared followed by
another equipage. Both stopped at the confines of the Oaks and the
friends of the thick-set man--Susan's admirer--and the young lad, on
whom she had smiled, alighted.

"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, who had accompanied the count and his
companion to the carriage. "Number two!"

"Yes," laughed the count, as he leaned back against the soft cushions,
"it promises to be a busy day at the Oaks! Really"--as the equipage
rolled on--"New Orleans is fast becoming a civilized center--demme!"

CHAPTER VI

A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON

The land baron's injuries did not long keep him indoors, for it was
his pride rather than his body that had received deep and bitter
wounds. He chafed and fumed when he thought how, in all likelihood,
the details of his defeat could not be suppressed in the clubs and
_cafes_. This anticipated publicity he took in ill part, fanning his
mental disorder with brandy, mellow and insidious with age. But
beneath the dregs of indulgence lay an image which preyed upon his
mind more than his defeat beneath the Oaks: a figure, on the crude
stage of a country tavern; in the manor window, with an aureole around
her from the sinking sun; in the grand stand at the races, the gay
dandies singling her out in all that seraglio of beauty.

"I played him too freely," he groaned to the Count de Propriac, as the
latter sat contemplatively nursing the ivory handle of his cane and
offering the land baron such poor solace as his company afforded. "I
misjudged the attack, besides exposing myself too much. If I could
only meet him again!"

The visitor reflectively took the handle of the stick from his lips,
thrust out his legs and yawned. The count was sleepy, having drowned
dull care