ed by De Lemos, and duly
countersigned by the officer of the port. The man bowed, and I passed
on.

It was a strange, silent ride through the stinging heat to Les Iles, the
brown dust hanging behind us like a cloud, to settle slowly on the
wayside shrubbery. Across the levee bank the river was low, listless,
giving off hot breath like a monster in distress. The forest pools were
cracked and dry, the Spanish moss was a haggard gray, and under the sun
was the haze which covered the land like a saffron mantle. At times a
listlessness came over me such as I had never known, to make me forget
the presence of the women at my side, the very errand on which we rode.
From time to time I was roused into admiration of the horsemanship of
Madame la Vicomtesse, for the restive Texas pony which she rode was stung
to madness by the flies. As for Antoinette, she glanced neither right
nor left through her veil, but rode unmindful of the way, heedless of
heat and discomfort, erect, motionless save for the easy gait of her
horse. At length we turned into the avenue through the forest, lined by
wild orange trees, came in sight of the low, belvedered plantation house,
and drew rein at the foot of the steps. Antoinette was the first to
dismount, and passed in silence through the group of surprised house
servants gathering at the door. I assisted the Vicomtesse, who paused to
bid the negroes disperse, and we lingered for a moment on the gallery
together.

"Poor Antoinette!" she said, "I wish we might have saved her this." She
looked up at me. "How she defended him!" she exclaimed.

"She loves him," I answered.

Madame la Vicomtesse sighed.

"I suppose there is no help for it," she said. "But it is very difficult
not to be angry with Mr. Temple. The girl cared for his mother, gave her
a home, clung to her when he and the world would have cast her off,
sacrificed her happiness for them both. If I see him, I believe I shall
shake him. And if he doesn't fall down on his knees to her, I shall ask
the Baron to hang him. We must bring him to his senses, Mr. Ritchie. He
must not leave Louisiana until he sees her. Then he will marry her."
She paused, scrutinized me in her quick way, and added: "You see that I
take your estimation of his character. You ought to be flattered."

"I am flattered by any confidence you repose in me, Madame la
Vicomtesse."

She laughed. I was not flattered then, but cursed myself for the quaint
awkwardness in my spe