Spain might as well try to dam the Mississippi
as to dam your commerce on it. As for France, I love her, though my
people were exiled to Switzerland by the Edict of Nantes. But France is
rotten through the prodigality of her kings and nobles, and she cannot
hold Louisiana. The kingdom is sunk in debt." He cleared his throat. "As
for this Wilkinson of whom you speak, I know something of him. I have
no doubt that Miro pensions him, but I know Miro likewise, and you will
obtain no proof of that. You will, however, discover in New Orleans
many things of interest to your government and to the Federal party in
Kentucky. Colonel Chouteau and I will give you letters to certain French
gentlemen in New Orleans who can be trusted. There is Saint-Gre, for
instance, who puts a French Louisiana into his prayers. He has never
forgiven O'Reilly and his Spaniards for the murder of his father in
sixty-nine. Saint-Gre is a good fellow,--a cousin of the present Marquis
in France,--and his ancestors held many positions of trust in the
colony under the French regime. He entertains lavishly at Les Iles, his
plantation on the Mississippi. He has the gossip of New Orleans at his
tongue's tip, and you will be suspected of nothing save a desire to
amuse yourselves if you go there." He paused interrupted by the laughter
of the others. "When strangers of note or of position drift here and
pass on to New Orleans, I always give them letters to Saint-Gre. He has
a charming daughter and a worthless son."

Monsieur Gratiot produced his tabatiere and took a pinch of snuff. I
summoned my courage for the topic which had trembled all the evening on
my lips.

"Some years ago, Monsieur Gratiot, a lady and a gentleman were rescued
on the Wilderness Trail in Kentucky. They left us for St. Louis. Did
they come here?"

Monsieur Gratiot leaned forward quickly.

"They were people of quality?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"And their name?"

"They--they did not say."

"It must have been the Clives," he cried "it can have been no other.
Tell me--a woman still beautiful, commanding, of perhaps eight and
thirty? A woman who had a sorrow?--a great sorrow, though we have never
learned it. And Mr. Clive, a man of fashion, ill content too, and pining
for the life of a capital?"

"Yes," I said eagerly, my voice sinking near to a whisper, "yes--it is
they. And are they here?"

Monsieur Gratiot took another pinch of snuff. It seemed an age before he
answered:--

"It i