The Crossing [186]
going to the edge of the gallery, held the letter to the light. As he read a peal of thunder broke distantly, the rain came down in a flood. Then he folded the paper carefully and turned to me again.
``You will make my house your home, Mr. Ritchie, he said; ``recommended from such a source, I will do all I can to serve you. But where is this Mr. Temple of whom the letter speaks? His family in Charlestown is known to me by repute.''
``By Madame de St. Gre's invitation he remained at Les Iles,'' I answered, speaking above the roar of the rain.
``I was just going to the table,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre; ``we will talk as we eat.''
He led the way into the dining room, and as I stood on the threshold a bolt of great brilliancy lighted its yellow- washed floor and walnut furniture of a staid pattern. A deafening crash followed as we took our seats, while Monsieur de St. Gre's man lighted four candles of green myrtle-berry wax.
``Monsieur Gratiot's letter speaks vaguely of politics, Mr. Ritchie,'' began Monsieur de St. Gre. He spoke English perfectly, save for an occasional harsh aspiration which I cannot imitate.
Directing his man to fetch a certain kind of Madeira, he turned to me with a look of polite inquiry which was scarcely reassuring. And I reflected, the caution with which I had been endowed coming uppermost, that the man might have changed since Monsieur Gratiot had seen him. He had, moreover, the air of a man who gives a forced attention, which seemed to me the natural consequences of the recent actions of his son.
``I fear that I am intruding upon your affairs, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``Not at all, sir,'' he said politely. ``I have met that charming gentleman, Mr. Wilkinson, who came here to brush away the causes of dissension, and cement a friendship between Kentucky and Louisiana.''
It was most fortunate that the note of irony did not escape me.
``Where governments failed, General Wilkinson succeeded,'' I answered dryly.
Monsieur de St. Gre glanced at me, and an enigmatical smile spread over his face. I knew then that the ice was cracked between us. Yet he was too much a man of the world not to make one more tentative remark.
``A union between Kentucky and Louisiana would be a resistless force in the world, Mr. Ritchie,'' he said.
``It was Nebuchadnezzar who dreamed of a composite image, Monsieur,'' I answered; ``and Mr. Wilkinson forgets one thing,--that Kentucky is a part of the United States.''
At that Monsieur St. Gre laughed outright. He became a different man, though he lost none of his dignity.
``I should have had more faith in my old friend Gratiot, he said; ``but you will pardon me if I did not recognize at once the statesman he had sent me, Mr. Ritchie.''
It was my turn to laugh.
``Monsieur,'' he went on, returning to that dignity of mien which marked him, ``my political opinions are too well known that I should make a mystery of them to you. I was born a Frenchman, I shall die a Frenchman, and I shall never be happy until Louisiana is French once more. My great-grandfather, a brother of the Marquis de St. Gre of that time, and a wild blade enough, came out with D'Iberville. His son, my grandfather, was the Commissary- general of the colony under the Marquis de Vaudreuil. He sent me to France for my education, where I was introduced at court by my kinsman, the old Marquis, who took a fancy to me and begged me to remain. It was my father's wish that I should return, and I did not disobey him. I had scarcely come back, Monsieur, when that abominable secret bargain of Louis the Fifteenth became known, ceding Louisiana to Spain. You may have heard of the revolution which followed here. It was a mild affair, and the remembrance of it makes me smile to this day, though with bitterness. I was five and twenty, hot-headed, and French. Que voulez-vous?'' and Monsieur de St. Gre shrugged his shoulders. ``O'Reilly, the famous Spanish general, came with his men-of-war. Well I remember the days we waited with leaden hearts for the men-of-war to
``You will make my house your home, Mr. Ritchie, he said; ``recommended from such a source, I will do all I can to serve you. But where is this Mr. Temple of whom the letter speaks? His family in Charlestown is known to me by repute.''
``By Madame de St. Gre's invitation he remained at Les Iles,'' I answered, speaking above the roar of the rain.
``I was just going to the table,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre; ``we will talk as we eat.''
He led the way into the dining room, and as I stood on the threshold a bolt of great brilliancy lighted its yellow- washed floor and walnut furniture of a staid pattern. A deafening crash followed as we took our seats, while Monsieur de St. Gre's man lighted four candles of green myrtle-berry wax.
``Monsieur Gratiot's letter speaks vaguely of politics, Mr. Ritchie,'' began Monsieur de St. Gre. He spoke English perfectly, save for an occasional harsh aspiration which I cannot imitate.
Directing his man to fetch a certain kind of Madeira, he turned to me with a look of polite inquiry which was scarcely reassuring. And I reflected, the caution with which I had been endowed coming uppermost, that the man might have changed since Monsieur Gratiot had seen him. He had, moreover, the air of a man who gives a forced attention, which seemed to me the natural consequences of the recent actions of his son.
``I fear that I am intruding upon your affairs, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``Not at all, sir,'' he said politely. ``I have met that charming gentleman, Mr. Wilkinson, who came here to brush away the causes of dissension, and cement a friendship between Kentucky and Louisiana.''
It was most fortunate that the note of irony did not escape me.
``Where governments failed, General Wilkinson succeeded,'' I answered dryly.
Monsieur de St. Gre glanced at me, and an enigmatical smile spread over his face. I knew then that the ice was cracked between us. Yet he was too much a man of the world not to make one more tentative remark.
``A union between Kentucky and Louisiana would be a resistless force in the world, Mr. Ritchie,'' he said.
``It was Nebuchadnezzar who dreamed of a composite image, Monsieur,'' I answered; ``and Mr. Wilkinson forgets one thing,--that Kentucky is a part of the United States.''
At that Monsieur St. Gre laughed outright. He became a different man, though he lost none of his dignity.
``I should have had more faith in my old friend Gratiot, he said; ``but you will pardon me if I did not recognize at once the statesman he had sent me, Mr. Ritchie.''
It was my turn to laugh.
``Monsieur,'' he went on, returning to that dignity of mien which marked him, ``my political opinions are too well known that I should make a mystery of them to you. I was born a Frenchman, I shall die a Frenchman, and I shall never be happy until Louisiana is French once more. My great-grandfather, a brother of the Marquis de St. Gre of that time, and a wild blade enough, came out with D'Iberville. His son, my grandfather, was the Commissary- general of the colony under the Marquis de Vaudreuil. He sent me to France for my education, where I was introduced at court by my kinsman, the old Marquis, who took a fancy to me and begged me to remain. It was my father's wish that I should return, and I did not disobey him. I had scarcely come back, Monsieur, when that abominable secret bargain of Louis the Fifteenth became known, ceding Louisiana to Spain. You may have heard of the revolution which followed here. It was a mild affair, and the remembrance of it makes me smile to this day, though with bitterness. I was five and twenty, hot-headed, and French. Que voulez-vous?'' and Monsieur de St. Gre shrugged his shoulders. ``O'Reilly, the famous Spanish general, came with his men-of-war. Well I remember the days we waited with leaden hearts for the men-of-war to