I was startled from this revery by
a knock. Rising hastily, I closed the door of my bedroom, thinking I had
to do with some drunken reveller who might be noisy. The knock was
repeated. I slipped back the bolt and peered out into the night.

"I saw dat light," said a voice which I recognized; "I think I come in to
say good night."

I opened the door, and he walked in.

"You are one night owl, Monsieur Reetchie," he said.

"And you seem to prefer the small hours for your visits, Monsieur de St.
Gre," I could not refrain from replying.

He swept the room with a glance, and I thought a shade of disappointment
passed over his face. I wondered whether he were looking for Nick. He
sat himself down in my chair, stretched out his legs, and regarded me
with something less than his usual complacency.

"I have much laik for you, Monsieur Reetchie," he began, and waved aside
my bow of acknowledgment "Before I go away from Louisville I want to spik
with you,--this is a risson why I am here. You listen to what dat Depeau
he say,--dat is not truth. My family knows you, I laik to have you hear
de truth."

He paused, and while I wondered what revelations he was about to make, I
could not repress my impatience at the preamble.

"You are my frien', you have prove it," he continued. "You remember las'
time we meet?" (I smiled involuntarily.) "You was in bed, but you not
need be ashame' for me. Two days after I went to France, and I not in
New Orleans since."

"Two days after you saw me?" I repeated.

"Yaas, I run away. That was the mont' of August, 1789, and we have not
then heard in New Orleans that the Bastille is attack. I lan' at La
Havre,--it is the en' of Septembre. I go to the Chateau de St.
Gre--great iron gates, long avenue of poplar,--big house all 'round a
court, and Monsieur le Marquis is at Versailles. I borrow three louis
from the concierge, and I go to Versailles to the hotel of Monsieur le
Marquis. There is all dat trouble what you read about going on, and
Monsieur le Marquis he not so glad to see me for dat risson. 'Mon cher
Auguste,' he cry, 'you want to be of officier in gardes de corps? You
are not afred?'" (Auguste stiffened.) "'I am a St. Gre, Monsieur le
Marquis. I am afred of nothings,' I answered. He tek me to the King, I
am made lieutenant, the mob come and the King and Queen are carry off to
Paris. The King is prisoner, Monsieur le Marquis goes back to the
Chateau de St. Gre. France is a republic. Mon