priety. Each person fulfilled his or her
allotted task thoroughly well, and without appearing to find it an
exertion. The housekeeping was admirable; to that point the excellence
of the breakfast had borne witness. I recollect once falling violently
in love with a Massachusetts beauty, possessed of a charming face, a
sylph-like figure, and as much sentimentality as would have stocked half
a dozen flaxen-haired Germans. It was my ninth serious attachment if I
remember rightly, and desperately smitten I was and remained, until one
unlucky day when the mamma of my _adorata_ invited me to a dinner _en
famille_. The toughness of the mutton-chops took the edge off my teeth
for forty-eight hours, and off my love for ever. As regards the Menous,
however, I have hardly known them long enough to form a very decided
opinion concerning them. In a few days I shall be able to judge better.
Meanwhile we will leave the ladies, and accompany Monsieur Menou over
his plantation. It is in excellent order, admirably situated, and
capitally irrigated by trenches cut through the cotton and maize fields.
There are above three hundred acres in cultivation--the yearly crop two
hundred and fifty bales: a very pretty income. Only three children, and
the plantation comprising nearly four thousand acres. Not so bad--might
be worth thinking of. But what would the world say to it? The
aristocratic Howard to marry a Creole, with, perhaps, a dash of Indian
blood in her veins! Yet Menou has threescore negroes and negresses,
besides a whole colony of ebony children, and the two girls are not so
ill to look at. Roses and lilies--especially Louise. Well, we will think
about it.

"Apropos!" said the Creole, as we were walking along a field path. "You
have three thousand dollars with Gorings?"

I nodded.

"And eight thousand with Mr Richards?"

"How do you know that, my dear M. Menou?"

I must observe, by way of parenthesis, that I had lent these eight
thousand dollars to Richards some five years previously; and although,
on more than one occasion during that time, the money would have been of
considerable use to me, I had been restrained from asking it back by my
natural indolence and laziness of character, added to the nonsensical
notion of generosity and devotion in friendship that I had picked out of
waggon-loads of novels. Richards, I must observe, had never hinted at
returning the money. I now felt rather vexed, I cannot exactly say why,
at Menou'