e spoon
to me, and making a movement as if she were stirring something, and
then again pointing to the house.

"_Que diable as tu?_" cried I, out of all patience at this
unintelligible pantomime.

The rooms wanted airing and sweeping, she said; they were not fit to
receive a stranger in. She only required a quarter of an hour to put
every thing to rights; and mean time, if I would be so good, for the
sake of the honour of the house, just to stir the soup, and keep an eye
upon the ham and buffalo flesh.

Mentally consigning the old Guinea-fowl to the keeping of the infernal
deities, I walked towards the house. My only consolation was, that
probably my companion's residence was not in a much better state than
mine, if in so good a one; those Creoles above Alexandria still live
half like Redskins. Monsieur Menou did not appear at all astonished at
my slovenly housekeeping. When we entered the parlour, we found, instead
of sofas and chairs, a quantity of Mexican cotton-seed in heaps upon the
floor; in one corner was a dirty tattered blanket, in another a
washing-tub. The other rooms were in a still worse state: one of the
negroes had taken up his quarters in my bed-chamber, from which the
musquitto curtains had disappeared, having passed, probably, into the
possession of the amiable Mrs Bleaks. I hastened to leave this scene of
disorder, and walked out into the court, my indignation and disgust
raised to the highest pitch.

"_Mais tout cela est bien charmant!_" exclaimed the Creole.

I looked at the man; he appeared in sober earnest, but I could not
believe that he was so; and I shook my head, for I was in no jesting
humour. The wearisome fellow again took my arm, and led me towards the
huts of my negroes and the cotton-fields. The soil of the latter was of
the richest and best description, and in spite of negligent cultivation,
its natural fertility and fatness had caused the plants to spring up
already nearly to the height of a man, though we were only in the month
of June. The Creole looked around him with the air of a connoisseur, and
in his turn shook his head. Just then, the bell on board the steamer
rang out the signal for departure.

"Thank Heaven!" thought I.

"_Monsieur_," said Menou, "the plantation is _tres charmante, mais ce_
Mistere Bleak is nothing worth, and you--you are _trop gentilhomme_."

I swallowed this equivocal compliment, nearly choking as I did so.

"_Ecoutez_," continued my companion; "