were a little remarkable, come to think of it," answered Nick,
settling down into his saddle again.

Indeed, the man's face had struck me so forcibly that I was surprised out
of an inquiry which I had meant to make of him, namely, how far we were
from the Saint-Gre plantation. We pursued our way slowly, from time to
time catching a glimpse of a dwelling almost hid in the distant foliage,
until at length we came to a place a little more pretentious than those
which we had seen. From the road a graceful flight of wooden steps
climbed the levee and descended on the far side to a boat landing, and a
straight vista cut through the grove, lined by wild orange trees,
disclosed the white pillars and galleries of a far-away plantation house.
The grassy path leading through the vista was trimly kept, and on either
side of it in the moist, green shade of the great trees flowers bloomed
in a profusion of startling colors,--in splotches of scarlet and white
and royal purple.

Nick slipped from his horse.

"Behold the mansion of Mademoiselle de Saint-Gre," said he, waving his
hand up the vista.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I am told by a part of me that never lies, Davy," he answered, laying
his hand upon his heart; "and besides," he added, "I should dislike
devilishly to go too far on such a day and have to come back again."

"We will rest here," I said, laughing, "and send in Benjy to find out."

"Davy," he answered, with withering contempt, "you have no more romance
in you than a turnip. We will go ourselves and see what befalls."

"Very well, then," I answered, falling in with his humor, "we will go
ourselves."

He brushed his face with his handkerchief, gave himself a pull here and a
pat there, and led the way down the alley. But we had not gone far
before he turned into a path that entered the grove on the right, and to
this likewise I made no protest. We soon found ourselves in a heavenly
spot,--sheltered from the sun's rays by a dense verdure,--and no one who
has not visited these Southern country places can know the teeming
fragrance there. One shrub (how well I recall it!) was like unto the
perfume of all the flowers and all the fruits, the very essence of the
delicious languor of the place that made our steps to falter. A bird
shot a bright flame of color through the checkered light ahead of us.
Suddenly a sound brought us to a halt, and we stood in a tense and
wondering silence. The words of a song, sung carel