stream, and the little house where my Colonel and I had lived together.
She must see them all, she must hear the story from my lips again; and
the telling of it to her gave it a new fire and a new life.

At evening, when the March wind had torn the cotton clouds to shreds, we
stood on the Mississippi's bank, gazing at the western shore, at
Louisiana. The low, forest-clad hills made a black band against the sky,
and above the band hung the sun, a red ball. He was setting, and man
might look upon his face without fear. The sight of the waters of that
river stirred me to think of many things. What had God in store for the
vast land out of which the waters flowed? Had He, indeed, saved it for a
People, a People to be drawn from all nations, from all classes? Was the
principle of the Republic to prevail and spread and change the complexion
of the world? Or were the lusts of greed and power to increase until in
the end they had swallowed the leaven? Who could say? What man of those
who, soberly, had put his hand to the Paper which declared the
opportunities of generations to come, could measure the Force which he
had helped to set in motion.

We crossed the river to the village where I had been so kindly received
many years ago--to St. Louis. The place was little changed. The wind
was stilled, the blue wood smoke curled lazily from the wide stone
chimneys of the houses nestling against the hill. The afterglow was
fading into night; lights twinkled in the windows. Followed by our
servants we climbed the bank, Helene and I, and walked the quiet streets
bordered by palings. The evening was chill. We passed a bright cabaret
from which came the sound of many voices; in the blacksmith's shop
another group was gathered, and we saw faces eager in the red light.
They were talking of the Cession.

We passed that place where Nick had stopped Suzanne in the cart, and
laughed at the remembrance. We came to Monsieur Gratiot's, for he had
bidden us to stay with him. And with Madame he gave us a welcome to warm
our hearts after our journey.

"David," he said, "I have seen many strange things happen in my life, but
the strangest of all is that Clark's drummer boy should have married a
Vicomtesse of the old regime."

And she was ever Madame la Vicomtesse to our good friends in St. Louis,
for she was a woman to whom a title came as by nature's right.

"And you are about to behold another strange thing David," Monsieur
Gratiot continued. "