et a more
remarkable man.

As I rode back to town alone a whitish film was spread before the sun,
and ere I had come in sight of the fortifications the low forest on the
western bank was a dark green blur against the sky. The esplanade on
the levee was deserted, the willow trees had a mournful look, while the
bright tiles of yesterday seemed to have faded to a sombre tone. I spied
Xavier on a bench smoking with some friends of his.

"He make much rain soon, Michie," he cried. "You hev good time, I hope,
Michie."

I waved my hand and rode on, past the Place d'Armes with its white
diagonal bands strapping its green like a soldiers front, and as I drew
up before the gate of the House of the Lions the warning taps of the
storm were drumming on the magnolia leaves. The same gardienne came to
my knock, and in answer to her shrill cry a negro lad appeared to hold
my horse. I was ushered into a brick-paved archway that ran under the
latticed gallery toward a flower-filled court-yard, but ere we reached
this the gardienne turned to the left up a flight of steps with a
delicate balustrade which led to an open gallery above. And there
stood the gentleman whom we had met hurrying to town in the morning. A
gentleman he was, every inch of him. He was dressed in black silk, his
hair in a cue, and drawn away from a face of remarkable features. He
had a high-bridged nose, a black eye that held an inquiring sternness, a
chin indented, and a receding forehead. His stature was indeterminable.
In brief, he might have stood for one of those persons of birth and
ability who become prime ministers of France.

"Monsieur de St. Gre?" I said.

He bowed gracefully, but with a tinge of condescension. I was awed, and
considering the relations which I had already had with his family, I
must admit that I was somewhat frightened.

"Monsieur," I said, "I bring letters to you from Monsieur Gratiot and
Colonel Chouteau of St. Louis. One of these I had the honor to deliver
to Madame de St. Gre, and here is the other."

"Ah," he said, with another keen glance, "I met you this morning, did I
not?"

"You did, Monsieur."

He broke the seal, and, going to the edge of the gallery, held the
letter to the light. As he read a peal of thunder broke distantly, the
rain came down in a flood. Then he folded the paper carefully and turned
to me again.

"You will make my house your home, Mr. Ritchie," he said; "recommended
from such a source, I will do all