round by
sea to Philadelphia or New York, and cross the mountains," he said,
"you will need good horses for your journey through Natchez and the
Cumberland country. There is a consignment of Spanish horses from the
westward just arrived in town," he added, "and I shall be pleased to go
with you to the place where they are sold. I shall not presume to advise
a Kentuckian on such a purchase."

The horses were crowded together under a dirty shed near the levee, and
the vessel from which they had been landed rode at anchor in the river.
They were the scrawny, tough ponies of the plains, reasonably cheap, and
it took no great discernment on my part to choose three of the strongest
and most intelligent looking. We went next to a saddler's, where I
selected three saddles and bridles of Spanish workmanship, and Mr. Clark
agreed to have two of his servants meet us with the horses before Madame
Bouvet's within the hour. He begged that we would dine with him when we
returned from Les Iles.

"You will not find an island, Mr. Ritchie," he said; "Saint-Gre's
plantation is a huge block of land between the river and a cypress swamp
behind. Saint-Gre is a man with a wonderful quality of mind, who might,
like his ancestors, have made his mark if necessity had probed him or
opportunity offered. He never forgave the Spanish government for the
murder of his father, nor do I blame him. He has his troubles. His son
is an incurable rake and degenerate, as you may have heard."

I went back to Madame Bouvet's, to find Nick emerging from his toilet.

"What deviltry have you been up to, Davy?" he demanded.

"I have been to the House of the Lions to see your divinity," I
answered, "and in a very little while horses will be here to carry us to
her."

"What do you mean?" he asked, grasping me by both shoulders.

"I mean that we are going to her father's plantation, some way down the
river."

"On my honor, Davy, I did not suspect you of so much enterprise," he
cried. "And her husband--?"

"Does not exist," I replied. "Perhaps, after all, I might be able to
give you instruction in the conduct of an adventure. The man you chased
with such futility was her brother, and he stole from her the miniature
of which I am now the fortunate possessor."

He stared at me for a moment in rueful amazement.

"And her name?" he demanded.

"Antoinette de Saint-Gre," I answered; "our letter is to her father."

He made me a rueful bow.

"I fear that I ha