The Colonel and he always conversed in English.  This rare accomplishment, which the former had learned from his Scotch wife,—­the latter from up-river traders,—­they found an admirable medium of communication, answering, better than French could, a similar purpose to that of the stick which we fasten to the bit of one horse and breast-gear of another, whereby each keeps his distance.  Once in a while, too, by way of jest, English found its way among the ladies of Belles Demoiselles, always signifying that their sire was about to have business with old Charlie.

Now a long-standing wish to buy out Charlie troubled the Colonel.  He had no desire to oust him unfairly; he was proud of being always fair; yet he did long to engross the whole estate under one title.  Out of his luxurious idleness he had conceived this desire, and thought little of so slight an obstacle as being already somewhat in debt to old Charlie for money borrowed, and for which Belles Demoiselles was, of course, good, ten times over.  Lots, buildings, rents, all, might as well be his, he thought, to give, keep, or destroy.  “Had he but the old man’s heritage.  Ah! he might bring that into existence which his belles demoiselles had been begging for, ‘since many years;’ a home,—­and such a home,—­in the gay city.  Here he should tear down this row of cottages, and make his garden wall; there that long rope-walk should give place to vine-covered ardors; the bakery yonder should make way for a costly conservatory; that wine warehouse should come down, and the mansion go up.  It should be the finest in the State.  Men should never pass it, but they should say—­’the palace of the De Charleus; a family of grand descent, a people of elegance and bounty, a line as old as France, a fine old man, and seven daughters as beautiful as happy; whoever dare attempt to marry there must leave his own name behind him!’

“The house should be of stones fitly set, brought down in ships from the land of ‘les Yankees,’ and it should have an airy belvedere, with a gilded image tiptoeing and shining on its peak, and from it you should see, far across the gleaming folds of the river, the red roof of Belles Demoiselles, the country-seat.  At the big stone gate there should be a porter’s lodge, and it should be a privilege even to see the ground.”

Truly they were a family fine enough, and fancy-free enough to have fine wishes, yet happy enough where they were, to have had no wish but to live there always.

To those, who, by whatever fortune, wandered into the garden of Belles Demoiselles some summer afternoon as the sky was reddening towards evening, it was lovely to see the family gathered out upon the tiled pavement at the foot of the broad front steps, gayly chatting and jesting, with that ripple of laughter that comes so pleasingly from a bevy of girls.  The father would be found seated in their midst, the centre of attention and compliment, witness, arbiter, umpire, critic, by his beautiful children’s unanimous appointment, but the single vassal, too, of seven absolute sovereigns.