``His looks 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 Iwas 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 carelessly in a clear, girlish voice, came to us from beyond.
``Je voudrais bien me marier, Je voudrais bien me marier, Mais j'ai qrand' peur de me tromper:
Mais j'ai grand' peur de me tromper:
Ils sont si malhonnetes!
Ma luron, ma lurette, Ils sont si malhonnetes!
Ma luron, ma lure.''
``We have come at the very zenith of opportunity,'' Iwhispered.
``Hush!'' he said.
``Je ne veux pas d'un avocat, Je ne veux pas d'un avocat, Car ils aiment trop les ducats, Car ils aiment trop les ducats, Ils trompent les fillettes, Ma luron, ma lurette, Ils trompent les fillettes, Ma luron, ma lure.''
``Eliminating Mr.Ritchie, I believe,'' said Nick, turning on me with a grimace.``But hark again!''
``Je voudrais bien d'un officier:
Je voudrais bien d'un officier:
Je marcherais a pas carres, Je marcherais a pas carres, Dans ma joli' chambrette, Ma luron, ma lurette Dans ma joli' chambrette, Ma luron, ma lure.''
The song ceased with a sound that was half laughter, half sigh.Before I realized what he was doing, Nick, instead of retracing his steps towards the house, started forward.The path led through a dense thicket which became a casino hedge, and suddenly I found myself peering over his shoulder into a little garden bewildering in color.
In the centre of the garden a great live-oak spread its sheltering branches.Around the gnarled trunk was a seat.And on the seat,--her sewing fallen into her lap, her lips parted, her eyes staring wide, sat the young lady whom we had seen on the levee the evening before.And Nick was making a bow in his grandest manner.
``Helas, Mademoiselle,'' he said, ``je ne suis pas officier, mais on peut arranger tout cela, sans doute.''
My breath was taken away by this unheard-of audacity, and I braced myself against screams, flight, and other feminine demonstrations of terror.The young lady did nothing of the kind.She turned her back to us, leaned against the tree, and to my astonishment I saw her slim shoulders shaken with laughter.At length, very slowly, she looked around, and in her face struggled curiosity and fear and merriment.Nick made another bow, worthy of Versailles, and she gave a frightened little laugh.
``You are English, Messieurs--yes?'' she ventured.
``We were once!'' cried Nick, ``but we have changed, Mademoiselle.''
``Et quoi donc?'' relapsing into her own language.
``Americans,'' said he.``Allow me to introduce to you the Honorable David Ritchie, whom you rejected a few moments ago.''
``Whom I rejected?'' she exclaimed.
``Alas,'' said Nick, with a commiserating glance at me, ``he has the misfortune to be a lawyer.''
Mademoiselle shot at me the swiftest and shyest of glances, and turned to us once more her quivering shoulders.
There was a brief silence.
``Mademoiselle?'' said Nick, taking a step on the garden path.
``Monsieur?'' she answered, without so much as looking around.
``What, now, would you take this gentleman to be?''
he asked with an insistence not to be denied.
Again she was shaken with laughter, and suddenly to my surprise she turned and looked full at me.
``In English, Monsieur, you call it--a gallant?''
My face fairly tingled, and I heard Nick laughing with unseemly merriment.
``Ah, Mademoiselle,'' he cried, ``you are a judge of character, and you have read him perfectly.''
``Then I must leave you, Messieurs,'' she answered, with her eyes in her lap.But she made no move to go.
``You need have no fear of Mr.Ritchie, Mademoiselle,''
answered Nick, instantly.``I am here to protect you against his gallantry.''
This time Nick received the glance, and quailed before it.