he square, and with the
courtesy of their race the people made way for us in the press; and we
were no sooner placed ere the procession came out of the church. Flaming
soldiers of the Governor's guard, two by two; sober, sandalled friars in
brown, priests in their robes,--another batch of color; crosses
shimmering, tapers emerging from the cool darkness within to pale by the
light of day. Then down on their knees to Him who sits high above the
yellow haze fell the thousands in the Place d'Armes. For here was the
Host itself, flower-decked in white and crimson, its gold-tasselled
canopy upheld by four tonsured priests, a sheen of purple under it,--the
Bishop of Louisiana in his robes.

"The Governor!" whispered Monsieur Vigo, and the word was passed from
mouth to mouth as the people rose from their knees. Francois Louis
Hector, Baron de Carondelet, resplendent in his uniform of colonel in the
royal army of Spain, his orders glittering on his breast,--pillar of
royalty and enemy to the Rights of Man! His eye was stern, his carriage
erect, but I seemed to read in his careworn face the trials of three
years in this moist capital. After the Governor, one by one, the waiting
Associations fell in line, each with its own distinguishing sash. So the
procession moved off into the narrow streets of the city, the people in
the Place dispersed to new vantage points, and Monsieur Vigo signed me to
follow him.

"I have a frien', la veuve Gravois, who lives ver' quiet. She have one
room, and I ask her tek you in, Davy." He led the way through the empty
Rue Chartres, turned to the right at the Rue Bienville, and stopped
before an unpretentious house some three doors from the corner. Madame
Gravois, elderly, wizened, primp in a starched cotton gown, opened the
door herself, fell upon Monsieur Vigo in the Creole fashion; and within a
quarter of an hour I was installed in her best room, which gave out on a
little court behind. Monsieur Vigo promised to send his servant with my
baggage, told me his address, bade me call on him for what I wanted, and
took his leave.

First, there was Madame Gravois' story to listen to as she bustled about
giving orders to a kinky-haired negro girl concerning my dinner. Then
came the dinner, excellent--if I could have eaten it. The virtues of
the former Monsieur Gravois were legion. He had come to Louisiana from
Toulon, planted indigo, fought a duel, and Madame was a widow. So I
condense two hours into two