Part 11

I must confess, however, that this hope was a very faint one. If the fellow had impressed me with an idea of his vulgarity, he had said or done nothing that could lead me to question his courage.

Up to this time, the tumult of my thoughts had hindered me from dwelling upon my odd encounter with the young avocat. Since it had only happened fifteen minutes before, of course, I had not forgotten it; and the affair of my friend being, in my mind, now arranged, it became necessary to attend to my own.

So ludicrous was the whole _contretemps_, that I could scarcely restrain laughter when I thought of it; but there was also a serious side to the question, calculated to prevent any free ebullition of mirth.

Already, perhaps, Monsieur De Hauteroche's messenger was on his way to the Saint Charles Hotel; and, on arriving there, I might find that besides having to play the easy _metier_ of second in a duel, I should be called upon to enact the more serious _role_ of a "principal."

_Might_ find! there was no _might_ in the matter. I was as certain of it as if I already carried the challenge in my pocket.

I could not help reflecting upon the very awkward dilemma, into which a moment of evil indulgence had plunged both my friend and myself, and upon the very threshold of new world life. It seemed that we were to be initiated into its mysteries by a baptism of blood!

I was less uneasy about my own affair. My chief source of regret was, my having given pain and offence to a young gentleman, who appeared to be one of delicate susceptibility. Certainly my strange behaviour must have astonished him, as much as the after finding of his counterpart, and the resemblance between them, astonished _me_.

The likeness was really remarkable--though less than it would have been, had Monsieur Despard been in full toilette, as I had first viewed him. The scar upon his cheek, moreover, I now observed and remembered. Why had I not thought of it before?

With regard to my affair with Monsieur De Hauteroche, the course was simple and clear: an unqualified apology. I only hesitated as to the when and where to make it.

Should I go on to the hotel and meet his second? That would be a more ceremonious way of proceeding--the most _en regle_.

But the apology would require an explanation--the embroglio was curious and complicated--and the explanation could only be properly understood by giving the details _viva voce_.

I resolved, therefore, to waive all ceremony, and, trusting to the generosity of my accidental enemy, to return to him _in propria persona_.

Quaffing off my claret; and flinging away the stump of my cigar, I walked directly to Number 16, Rue Royale.

To my gratification I found the young _avocat_ in his office; and I was further satisfied by perceiving that I was in good time. No message had yet been sent to the Saint Charles--though I had no doubt that the military-looking gentleman whom I met in the office was upon the eve of such an errand. My appearance must have been as little expected as that of the "man in the moon."

I shall not trouble the reader by detailing the apology. The explanation is known already. Suffice it to say, that when Monsieur De Hauteroche heard it, he not only acted in the true spirit of a gentleman; but, from an enemy, became transformed into a friend. Perceiving that I was a stranger, he generously invited me to renew my visit; and, with a hearty laugh at the _outre_ style of our introduction, we parted.

Casey's more serious affair was still upon my mind; and I hurried home to the hotel.

As I expected, Casey _would_ send the challenge; and, as I almost confidently anticipated, the other _accepted_ it. It ended in a duel, and I need hardly add that swords were the weapons.

I refrain from giving a description of this duel, which differed only from about a million of others--minutely described by romance writers-- in being one of the very shortest of combats. At the very first passage Casey received (and I esteemed it very fortunate that he did so) his adversary's sword through the muscles of his right arm--completely disabling him. That was all the satisfaction he ever got for the loss of his repeater!

Of course this rude thrust ended the combat; and Monsieur Jacques Despard marched off the ground without a scratch upon his person or a blemish on his name.

Casey, however, still asserted--though, of course, not publicly--"that the fellow took the watch;" and I afterwards found good reason to believe he _did_ take it.

Story 2, Chapter VII.

HOSPITABLE FRIENDS.

Casey's views were commercial, and New Orleans was not the place where a display of spirit would be likely to damage his prospects. It appeared rather to have an opposite effect; for, before his arm was well out of the sling, I had the gratification to learn that he had received an appointment in one of the large cotton commission houses--a calling sufficiently suited to his temperament.

My own object in visiting the Western World was less definite. I was of that age when travel is attractive--young enough to afford a few years of _far niente_ before entering upon the more serious pursuits of life. In short, I had no object beyond idleness and sight-seeing; and in either way, a month or two may be passed in New Orleans without much danger of suffering from _ennui_.

My stay in the "Crescent City" extended to a period of full three months. A pleasant hospitality induced me to prolong it beyond what I had originally intended: and the dispenser of this hospitality was no other than Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.

Notwithstanding the _bizarrerie_ of its beginning, our acquaintance soon grew into friendship; for the southern heart is of free and quick expansion, as the flowers of its clime, and its affection as rapidly ripens. There the friendship of a single month is often as strong--ay, and as lasting too--as that which results from years of intercourse under the cold ceremonies of old world life.

In a month De Hauteroche and I were bosom friends; and scarcely a day passed that we did not see each other, scarcely three that we were not companions in some boating or hunting excursion--some _fete champetre_ among his Creole acquaintances, the hospitable planters of the "coast,"--at the _bal-masque_, or in the boxes of the "Theatre Francais."

In the morning hours I often visited him at his place of business--for business he did not altogether neglect--in the Rue Royale; but more frequently in the evening at his private residence--the pretty little "cabane," as he called it, with its glass door windows and vine-loaded verandahs, in the adjoining street of the Rue Bourgogne.

This charming spot had a peculiar attraction for me. Was it the company of De Hauteroche himself or that of Adele, his fair sister, that drew me so often thither? It must have been one or the other--for excepting the dark-skinned domestics, the two were the only inmates of the house. I relished much the conversation of my young Creole friend--perhaps still more, the music which his sister understood how to produce upon her harp and guitar. Especially did the notes of the harp vibrate pleasantly upon my ear; and the picture of a fair maiden seated in front of that noble stringed instrument, soon impressed itself on my spirit, whether awake or dreaming. Adele became the vision of my dreams.

Without designing it, I soon became acquainted with the family history of my new friends. It was but the natural consequence of the confidential intercourse that had sprung up between us.

They were the orphan children of an officer of the Napoleonic army--an _ancien-colonel_ of artillery--who, after the defeat of Waterloo, surrendered up his sword and sought an asylum in the Far West. He was but one of many, who, at that time, deprived of the patronage of their great leader, became _emigres_ by a sort of voluntary exile, finding in the French settlements of the New World--Louisiana among the rest--a kindred and congenial home.

In the case of Hauteroche, however, the habits of the military man had not fitted him either for a commercial life or that of a planter. His affairs had not prospered--and at his death, which had occurred but the year before--he had left his children little other inheritance than that of an excellent education and a spotless name.

Far otherwise had it been with a comrade who accompanied him in his exile--a brother officer of his regiment and a devoted bosom friend. The latter preferring the cooler climate of Saint Louis, had gone up the river and settled there.

He was a Norman, and his young wife had accompanied him. With the stauncher qualities of this race, he had devoted himself to commercial pursuits; and his perseverance was rewarded by the acquirement of an ample fortune--which, with his wife--also of Norman family--and an only daughter, he was now enjoying in opulent retirement.

The almost fraternal friendship of the two ex-officers was not extinguished by their altered mode of life; but, on the contrary, it continued as warm as ever during the period of their residence in the New World. Annually the "crate" of oranges from the south was sent up to Saint Louis, and as often was the barrel of apples or walnuts--the produce of the more temperate clime--despatched in the opposite direction--a pleasant interchange of presents effected by the medium of the mighty Mississippi.

A personal intercourse, too, was at intervals renewed. Every two or three years the old colonel had indulged himself with a ramble on the prairies which lie contiguous to the settlements of Saint Louis, while his brother officer, at like intervals, reciprocated the visit by a trip to the great southern metropolis, thus in a very convenient manner combining the opportunities of business and pleasure.

Under these circumstances it was natural that the families of De Hauteroche and Dardonville should be affectionately attached to each other, and such was in reality the case. I was constantly hearing of the latter--of the goodness of Madame Dardonville--of the beauty of Olympe.

It was nearly three years since either De Hauteroche or his sister had seen their Saint Louis friends. Olympe, as was alleged, was then but a child; but the fervour with which the young avocat descanted upon her merits, led me to suspect that in his eyes at least, she had reached a very interesting period of her childhood. Now and then the merry badinage of his sister on this point, bringing the colour to his cheeks, confirmed me in the suspicion.

My new acquaintances had admitted me as a link into the chain of their happy circle; and for three months I enjoyed, almost without interruption, its pleasant hospitality.

It became a spell that was hard to break; and when the hour of leave-taking arrived, I looked upon it as a painful necessity--though my absence did not promise to be a prolonged one.

The necessity was one of sufficient urgency. A July sun was glaring from the sky, and the yellow spectre had entered the Crescent City, upon its annual visit of devastation.

Already had it begun its ghastly work, and here and there presented itself in horrid mien. In those Faubourgs where dwelt the less opulent of the population, I observed traces of its presence; that symbol of terrible significance--the red cross upon the closed door--telling too plainly that the destroyer had been there.

It would have been madness for me to have remained amidst a pestilence, from which it was so easy to escape. Twenty hours upon a fast boat, and I should be clear of the danger: and among the up-river towns I might make choice of an asylum.

Four large cities--Pittsburg, Louisville, Cincinatti, and Saint Louis-- lay beyond the latitude of the epidemic: all easy of access. In any of these I might find a luxurious home; but I longed to look upon those boundless fields of green, for years the idol of my youthful fancy; and I knew that Saint Louis was the gate that guided to them. Thither, then, was I bound.

With regret I parted from my Creole friends. They had no need to fly or fear the scourge. Acclimatised in the middle of that vast _marais_, its malaria had for them neither terror nor danger. Immunity from both was their birthright, and New Orleans was their home throughout the year: though during the months of intolerable heat and utter stagnation of business, it was their habit to reside in one of the numerous summer retreats found upon the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.

I was in hopes they would have accompanied me to Saint Louis, and I endeavoured to induce them to do so.

Luis seemed desirous, and yet declined! I knew not the delicate reason that influenced him to this self-denial.

I promised to return with the first frost; for this usually kills "Yellow Jack."

"Ah! you will not be here so soon?" said Adele, in a tone that pretended to be pensive. "You will like Saint Louis too well to leave it. Perhaps when you have seen Olympe--"

"And what of Olympe?"

"She is beautiful--she is rich--"

"Those are qualities that more concern your brother; and if I should make love to Olympe, it will only be as his proxy."

"Ha! ha! a perilous prospect for poor Luis!"

"Oh, no! Luis need fear no rival; but, jesting apart, I should be glad to enter into a little covenant with him."

"A covenant?"

"Yes--the terms of which would be, that in Saint Louis I should use all my interest in his favour, while he should here reciprocate, by employing his in mine."

"In what quarter, Monsieur?"

"Here, _at home_."

Adele's dark brown eyes rolled upon me a moment, as if in innocent astonishment; and then, suddenly changing their expression, they danced and sparkled to a peal of merry laughter, which ended in the words:--"_Au revoir! la premiere gelee, adieu! adieu_!" Luis was outside, waiting to accompany me to the boat; and, returning the adieu somewhat confusedly, I hurried up the steps of the verandah, and joined him.

In another hour I was upon the broad bosom of the "Father of Waters," breasting his mighty current towards its far distant source.

Story 2, Chapter VIII.

THE VILLA DARDONVILLE.

Soon after my arrival in Saint Louis, I called upon the Dardonvilles, and presented my letter of introduction. It was a sealed document, and I knew not the nature of its contents; but from the effect produced I must have been the bearer of strong credentials. It placed me at once on a footing of intimacy with the friends of my friends.

The family did not reside in town, but at the distance of a mile or so from it. Their villa stood upon a high bluff of the river, commanding a view of the broad noble stream, and beyond the wooded lowlands of Illinois, stretching like a sea of bluish green to the far eastern horizon.

Nothing could exceed the attractions of this transatlantic home; and the many visitors whom I met there, proved that they were appreciated. Dardonville, now rich, had retired from mercantile life, and offered a profuse hospitality to his friends. Need I say that he had troops of them?

From the character of much of the company that I met there, it was easy to see what was the chief object of attraction. It was not the wines, his luxurious dinners, nor the joys of the _fete champetre_, that brought to the villa Dardonville so many of the choice youth of the neighbourhood--the sons of rich planters and merchants--the young officers of the near military post. There was an influence far more powerful than these--Olympe.

Olympe was an heiress--a beauty--a belle.

In truth she was a lovely creature--one of those blonde, golden-haired beings, that appear to bring earth and heaven together, uniting in soft sweet harmony the form of a woman with the spirit of an angel.

She was still only a girl; but the precocity of that sunny clime promised the early development of her perfect form, already distinguished by charms of which she alone appeared unconscious.

It would have been no difficult matter to have fallen in love with Olympe--a far greater feat to have kept one's heart clear; and I rather congratulated myself that mine was already occupied. Happy might be the man who should be honoured by the first passionate throbbings of that young virginal bosom; but wretched he who should _vainly_ aspire to that honour.

Perhaps it was my indifference that made me the favourite of Madame Dardonville; or was there something in the letter of my Creole friend that introduced me to her confidence? I knew not; but from the hour of my arrival this good lady admitted me to the intimacy of a confidential friendship.

Through this confidence I soon became acquainted with the conjugal destiny of the lovely Olympe--so far as that could be controlled by the will of her parents. Louis De Hauteroche needed no backer in me. Notwithstanding his numerous and richer rivals, there was not much to fear, with such influence in his favour. Above all, the heart of Olympe was still free. I rejoiced on learning this; for seeing this fair young creature beset by so many suitors--too young to receive proposals--I trembled for the fate of my friend. Madame Dardonville, however, was a good "duenna;" and as for the retired merchant and _ancien lieutenant_, he had no idea of any danger. It was his design, and had been for years, that Olympe should marry Luis de Hauteroche, the son of his old comrade and friend--the son of his early benefactor, as he declared to me in the warmth of his amical enthusiasm, when we were one day conversing on the subject.

"Yes," exclaimed he, "De Hauteroche is poor--so was his father before him; but De Hauteroche was a gentleman of noble race, Monsieur--a true gentleman--and Luis must be--how could it be otherwise?"

I assured him it was my own belief; and in answer to many a question put both by Monsieur and Madame, I found the opportunity of making some slight return for the many kindnesses of my Creole friend. Had I made the covenant with Adele, I could not have been more zealous in carrying out my share of its conditions.

Such was the position I held in the Dardonville family previous to my starting for the prairies.

My excursion extended to the country of the "Crows," and occupied a period of over three months. I also had the honour of an interview with the redoubtable "Blackfeet" and the good fortune not to leave my scalp in the hands of these Ishmaelites of the prairies. I do not here intend to detail to my reader the incidents of my prairie life. They have no bearing upon our narrative. I need only remark, that during my three months' residence in the wilderness I had no communication whatever with the civilised world, and never heard from any of the friends I had left behind on either side of the Atlantic. On my return to Saint Louis, therefore, I found many items of news awaiting me--one of the most unexpected being the death of Monsieur Dardonville! Congestive fever, after a short illness, had carried him off--not much beyond the prime of life, and just when he had accomplished a position of opulent independence. This is not an uncommon fate with men who seek rest and retirement after a life of continued activity.

My intimacy with the family suffered no interruption from this melancholy occurrence, though of course its character was somewhat changed. But Madame Dardonville was as friendly as ever--even more so I fancied--and for the few weeks that I remained at Saint Louis, she pressed me to accept almost a constant hospitality. General society was no longer received at the villa: only those friends whose intimacy was of long standing.

That I had won Madame Dardonville's confidence, must be attributed to my relations with Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche; and to the same, no doubt, was I indebted for a singular secret that was entrusted to me on the eve of my departure for New Orleans. It was to the effect that her husband had made a most curious will--by which one half of his estate was left to his widow, the other to his daughter. There was nothing remarkable about this partition of the property, and it appeared to me to be equitable enough: but it was in another point that the will was oddly conditioned. This was, that in the event of Luis De Hauteroche offering to marry Olympe, the latter should not be free to refuse, except under forfeiture of the legacy left her by her father; and this was to become the property of Luis De Hauteroche himself! In other words, the daughter of Dardonville was left by legacy to the son of his old friend--on such conditions as were likely to lead her to their acceptance, while young De Hauteroche was comparatively free in his choice. This I was assured by Madame Dardonville was the fruits of a profound gratitude for some early favour, which her husband had received at the hands of his former comrade De Hauteroche.

I thought it a fortunate circumstance, that the parties interested in this strange document were not likely to offer any opposition to its terms and conditions. It would prove only an idle instrument, and perhaps in a few months the writing contained in it would be no longer of any significance. My friend Luis would inherit the property of the rich merchant, and marry his daughter to boot. That would be the end of it.

I was curious to know if De Hauteroche had not yet heard of the fortune thus strangely conditioned to him, and I asked the question. The reply was "Not yet." There were reasons why he had not been told of it. But there was no longer any object in keeping the secret from him, and the Madame informed me that she had just written to him, enclosing a copy of her husband's will, and giving him a full explanation of her views upon the subject.

This conversation occurred upon the day before my departure from Saint Louis. Madame Dardonville had dispatched her letter by mail. She expressed regret at not having entrusted it to me, but she was not apprised of my intention of leaving so soon. Indeed it was hastily taken. _La premier gelee_--the first frost had made its appearance, and I remembered my promise.

As I bade my adieus at the Villa Dardonville, the Madame also extracted a promise from me--to the effect that I should not speak of what she had told me--even to Luis himself. She was desirous that things should take their natural course.

Story 2, Chapter IX.

THE POST-OFFICE.

On my return to New Orleans, one of my earliest solicitudes was about my European correspondence. There letters are not delivered by a carrier, or were not at the time of which I speak. To obtain them, you must either send to the Post-office, or go for them yourself; and expecting some letters of importance, I chose the latter alternative.

I reached the office at the hour when the Atlantic steamer's mail was being delivered. As is usual at that time, there was a crowd around the delivery-window; but by means of the simple contrivance of a gallery, or _coulisse_, each applicant was enabled to take his turn. I fell into rank, and awaited mine.

As we moved gradually forward, I could hear the different individuals asking for their letters--each giving his name, or sometimes both name and address.

Rarely was any question asked, beyond the demand for the amount of postage--the applicant paying it through the delivery-window, receiving the letter, and passing on to make room for the impatient gentleman in his rear.

I had arrived within some half-dozen files of the box, when I heard pronounced a well-known name.

"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_."

It was not very distinctly enunciated--in fact rather in a sort of muttered tone--but I could not be mistaken as to the name.