travelling
to amuse themselves."

The lady rose and beamed upon us.

"From Monsieur Gratiot," she said; "you are very welcome, gentlemen, to
such poor accommodations as I have. It is not unusual to have American
gentlemen in New Orleans, for many come here first and last. And I am
happy to say that two of my best rooms are vacant. Zoey!"

There was a shrill answer from the court below, and a negro girl in a
yellow turban came running up, while Madame Bouvet bustled along the
gallery and opened the doors of two darkened rooms. Within I could dimly
see a walnut dresser, a chair, and a walnut bed on which was spread a
mosquito bar.

"Voila! Messieurs," cried Madame Bouvet, "there is still a little
time for a siesta. No siesta!" cried Madame, eying us aghast; "ah, the
Americans they never rest--never."

We bade farewell to the good Xavier, promising to see him soon; and
Nick, shouting to Benjy to open the saddle-bags, proceeded to array
himself in the clothes which had made so much havoc at St. Louis. I
boded no good from this proceeding, but I reflected, as I watched him
dress, that I might as well try to turn the Mississippi from its course
as to attempt to keep my cousin from the search for gallant adventure.
And I reflected that his indulgence in pleasure-seeking would serve
the more to divert any suspicions which might fall upon my own head. At
last, when the setting sun was flooding the court-yard, he stood arrayed
upon the gallery, ready to venture forth to conquest.

Madame Bouvet's tavern, or hotel, or whatever she was pleased to call
it, was not immaculately clean. Before passing into the street we stood
for a moment looking into the public room on the left of the hallway,
a long saloon, evidently used in the early afternoon for a dining room,
and at the back of it a wide, many-paned window, capped by a Spanish
arch, looked out on the gallery. Near this window was a gay party of
young men engaged at cards, waited on by the yellow-turbaned Zoey, and
drinking what evidently was claret punch. The sounds of their jests and
laughter pursued us out of the house.

The town was waking from its siesta, the streets filling, and people
stopped to stare at Nick as we passed. But Nick, who was plainly in
search of something he did not find, hurried on. We soon came to the
quarter which had suffered most from the fire, where new houses had
gone up or were in the building beside the blackened logs of many of
Bienville'