a form! And what a carriage, by Jove! There is breeding for
you! And Davy, did you mark the gentle, rounded arm? Thank heaven these
short sleeves are the fashion."

"You are mad, Nick," I answered, pulling him on, "these people are
not to be stared at so. And once I present our letters to Monsieur de
Saint-Gre, it will not be difficult to know any of them."

"Look!" said he, "that young man, lover or husband, is a brute. On my
soul, they are quarrelling."

The three had stopped by a bench under a tree. The young man, who wore
claret silk and a sword, had one of those thin faces of dirty complexion
which show the ravages of dissipation, and he was talking with a
rapidity and vehemence of which only a Latin tongue will admit. We
could see, likewise, that the girl was answering with spirit,--indeed, I
should write a stronger word than spirit,--while the elderly gentleman,
who had a good-humored, fleshy face and figure, was plainly doing his
best to calm them both. People who were passing stared curiously at the
three.

"Your divinity evidently has a temper," I remarked.

"For that scoundel--certainly," said Nick; "but come, they are moving
on."

"You mean to follow them?" I exclaimed.

"Why not?" said he. "We will find out where they live and who they are,
at least."

"And you have taken a fancy to this girl?"

"I have looked them all over, and she's by far the best I've seen. I can
say so much honestly."

"But she may be married," I said weakly.

"Tut, Davy," he answered, "it's more than likely, from the violence of
their quarrel. But if so, we will try again."

"We!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, come on!" he cried, dragging me by the sleeve, "or we shall lose
them."

I resisted no longer, but followed him down the levee, in my heart
thanking heaven that he had not taken a fancy to an octoroon. Twilight
had set in strongly, the gay crowd was beginning to disperse, and in
the distance the three figures could be seen making their way across the
Place d'Armes, the girl hanging on the elderly gentleman's arm, and the
young man following with seeming sullenness behind. They turned into one
of the narrower streets, and we quickened our steps. Lights gleamed in
the houses; voices and laughter, and once the tinkle of a guitar came
to us from court-yard and gallery. But Nick, hurrying on, came near to
bowling more than one respectable citizen we met on the banquette, into
the ditch. We reached a corner, and the three wer