No wonder.  The daughters knew his closeness in trade, and attributed to it his failure to negotiate for the Old Charlie buildings,—­so to call them.  They began to depreciate Belles Demoiselles.  If a north wind blew, it was too cold to ride.  If a shower had fallen, it was too muddy to drive.  In the morning the garden was wet.  In the evening the grasshopper was a burden. Ennui was turned into capital; every headache was interpreted a premonition of ague; and when the native exuberance of a flock of ladies without a want or a care burst out in laughter in the father’s face, they spread their French eyes, rolled up their little hands, and with rigid wrists and mock vehmence vowed and vowed again that they only laughed at their misery, and should pine to death unless they could move to the sweet city.  “Oh! the theatre!  Oh!  Orleans Street!  Oh! the masquerade! the Place d’Armes! the ball!” and they would call upon Heaven with French irreverence, and fall into each other’s arms, and whirl down the hall singing a waltz, end with a grand collision and fall, and, their eyes streaming merriment, lay the blame on the slippery floor, that would some day be the death of the whole seven.

Three times more the fond father, thus goaded, managed, by accident,—­business accident,—­to see old Charlie and increase his offer; but in vain.  He finally went to him formally.

“Eh?” said the deaf and distant relative.  “For what you want him, eh?  Why you don’t stay where you halways be ’appy?  Dis is a blame old rat-hole,—­good for old Injin Charlie,—­da’s all.  Why you don’t stay where you be halways ’appy?  Why you don’t buy somewheres else?”

“That’s none of yonr business,” snapped the planter.  Truth was, his reasons were unsatisfactory even to himself.

A sullen silence followed.  Then Charlie spoke: 

“Well, now, look here; I sell you old Charlie’s house.”

“Bien! and the whole block,” said the Colonel.

“Hold on,” said Charlie.  “I sell you de ’ouse and de block.  Den I go and git drunk, and go to sleep de dev’ comes along and says, ’Charlie! old Charlie, you blame low-down old dog, wake up!  What you doin’ here?  Where’s de ’ouse what Monsieur le Compte give your grace-gran-muzzer?  Don’t you see dat fine gentyman, De Charleu, done gone and tore him down and make him over new, you blame old fool, Charlie, you low-down old Injin dog!’”

“I’ll give you forty thousand dollars,” said the Colonel.

“For de ’ouse?”

“For all.”

The deaf man shook his head.

“Forty-five!” said the Colonel.

“What a lie?  For what you tell me ‘What a lie?’ I don’t tell you no lie.”

“Non, non! I give you forty-five!” shouted the Colonel.

Charlie shook his head again.

“Fifty!”

He shook it again.

The figures rose and rose to—­

“Seventy-five!”