At the same instant a pulse of the breeze brought from the garden behind, the joyous, thoughtless laughter of the fair mistresses of Belles Demoiselles.

The old Colonel sprang up and clambered over the levee.  Then forcing himself to a more composed movement he hastened into the house and ordered his horse.

“Tell my children to make merry while I am gone,” he left word.  “I shall be back to-night,” and the horse’s hoofs clattered down a by-road leading to the city.

“Charlie,” said the planter, riding up to a window, from which the old man’s nightcap was thrust out, “what you say, Charlie,—­my house for yours, eh, Charlie—­what you say?”

“Ello!” said Charlie; “from where you come from dis time of to-night?”

“I come from the Exchange in St. Louis Street.” (A small fraction of the truth.)

“What you want?” said matter-of-fact Charlie.

“I come to trade.”

The low-down relative drew the worsted off his ears.  “Oh! yass,” he said with an uncertain air.

“Well, old man Charlie, what you say:  my house for yours,—­like you said,—­eh, Charlie?”

“I dunno,” said Charlie; “it’s nearly mine now.  Why you don’t stay dare youse’f?”

“Because I don’t want!” said the Colonel savagely.  “Is dat reason enough for you?  You better take me in de notion, old man, I tell you,—­yes!”

Charlie never winced; but how his answer delighted the Colonel!  Quoth Charlie: 

“I don’t care—­I take him!—­mais, possession give right off.”

“Not the whole plantation, Charlie; only”—­

“I don’t care,” said Charlie; “we easy can fix dat Mais, what for you don’t want to keep him?  I don’t want him.  You better keep him.”

“Don’t you try to make no fool of me, old man,” cried the planter.

“Oh, no!” said the other.  “Oh, no! but you make a fool of yourself, ain’t it?”

The dumbfounded Colonel stared; Charlie went on: 

“Yass!  Belles Demoiselles is more wort’ dan tree block like dis one.  I pass by dare since two weeks.  Oh, pritty Belles Demoiselles!  De cane was wave in de wind, de garden smell like a bouquet, de white-cap was jump up and down on de river; seven belles demoiselles was ridin’ on horses.  ‘Pritty, pritty, pritty!’ says old Charlie.  Ah! Monsieur le Pere, ’ow ’appy, ’appy, ’appy!”

“Yass!” he continued—­the Colonel still staring—­“le Compte De Charleu have two familie.  One was low-down Choctaw, one was high up noblesse.  He gave the low-down Choctaw dis old rat-hole; he give Belles Demoiselles to you gran-fozzer; and now you don’t be satisfait.  What I’ll do wid Belles Demoiselles?  She’ll break me in two years, yass.  And what you’ll do wid old Charlie’s house, eh?  You’ll tear her down and make you’se’f a blame old fool.  I rather wouldn’t trade!”

The planter caught a big breathful of anger, but Charlie went straight on: