s curious that you should mention them, for I gave them letters to
New Orleans,--amongst others, to Saint-Gre. Mrs. Clive was--what shall
I say?--haunted. Monsieur Clive talked of nothing but Paris, where they
had lived once. And at last she gave in. They have gone there."

"To Paris?" I said, taking breath.

"Yes. It is more than a year ago," he continued, seeming not to notice
my emotion; "they went by way of New Orleans, in one of Chouteau's
boats. Mrs. Clive seemed a woman with a great sorrow."

CHAPTER IX. "CHERCHEZ LA FEMME"

Sunday came with the soft haziness of a June morning, and the dew sucked
a fresh fragrance from the blossoms and the grass. I looked out of our
window at the orchard, all pink and white in the early sun, and across
a patch of clover to the stone kitchen. A pearly, feathery smoke was
wafted from the chimney, a delicious aroma of Creole coffee pervaded the
odor of the blossoms, and a cotton-clad negro a pieds nus came down the
path with two steaming cups and knocked at our door. He who has tasted
Creole coffee will never forget it. The effect of it was lost upon Nick,
for he laid down the cup, sighed, and promptly went to sleep again,
while I dressed and went forth to make his excuses to the family. I
found Monsieur and Madame with their children walking among the flowers.
Madame laughed.

"He is charming, your cousin," said she. "Let him sleep, by all means,
until after Mass. Then you must come with us to Madame Chouteau's, my
mother's. Her children and grandchildren dine with her every Sunday."

"Madame Chouteau, my mother-in-law, is the queen regent of St. Louis,
Mr. Ritchie," said Monsieur Gratiot, gayly. "We are all afraid of her,
and I warn you that she is a very determined and formidable personage.
She is the widow of the founder of St. Louis, the Sieur Laclede,
although she prefers her own name. She rules us with a strong hand,
dispenses justice, settles disputes, and--sometimes indulges in them
herself. It is her right."

"You will see a very pretty French custom of submission to parents,"
said Madame Gratiot. "And afterwards there is a ball."

"A ball!" I exclaimed involuntarily.

"It may seem very strange to you, Mr. Ritchie, but we believe that
Sunday was made to enjoy. They will have time to attend the ball before
you send them down the river?" she added mischievously, turning to her
husband.

"Certainly," said he, "the loading will not be finished before eight
o'cl