“Because for years I have had a kind of custody of all my kinsmen’s property interests, Agricola’s among them, it is supposed that he has always kept the plantation of Aurore Nancanou (or rather of Clotilde—­who, you know, by our laws is the real heir).  That is a mistake.  Explain it as you please, call it remorse, pride, love—­what you like—­while I was in France and he was managing my mother’s business, unknown to me he gave me that plantation.  When I succeeded him I found it and all its revenues kept distinct—­as was but proper—­from all other accounts, and belonging to me.  ’Twas a fine, extensive place, had a good overseer on it and—­I kept it.  Why?  Because I was a coward.  I did not want it or its revenues; but, like my father, I would not offend my people.  Peace first and justice afterwards—­that was the principle on which I quietly made myself the trustee of a plantation and income which you would have given back to their owners, eh?”

Frowenfeld was silent.

“My-de’-seh, recollect that to us the Grandissime name is a treasure.  And what has preserved it so long?  Cherishing the unity of our family; that has done it; that is how my father did it.  Just or unjust, good or bad, needful or not, done elsewhere or not, I do not say; but it is a Creole trait.  See, even now” (the speaker smiled on one side of his mouth) “in a certain section of the territory certain men, Creoles” (he whispered, gravely), “some Grandissimes among them, evading the United States revenue laws and even beating and killing some of the officials:  well!  Do the people at large repudiate those men?  My-de’-seh, in no wise, seh!  No; if they were Americains—­but a Louisianian—­is a Louisianian; touch him not; when you touch him you touch all Louisiana!  So with us Grandissimes; we are legion, but we are one.  Now, my-de’-seh, the thing you ask me to do is to cast overboard that old traditional principle which is the secret of our existence.”

“I ask you?”

“Ah, bah! you know you expect it.  Ah! but you do not know the uproar such an action would make.  And no ‘noble part’ in it, my-de’-seh, either.  A few months ago—­when we met by those graves—­if I had acted then, my action would have been one of pure—­even violent—­self-sacrifice.  Do you remember—­on the levee, by the Place d’Armes—­me asking you to send Agricola to me?  I tried then to speak of it.  He would not let me.  Then, my people felt safe in their land-titles and public offices; this restitution would have hurt nothing but pride.  Now, titles in doubt, government appointments uncertain, no ready capital in reach for any purpose, except that which would have to be handed over with the plantation (for to tell you the fact, my-de’-seh, no other account on my books has prospered), with matters changed in this way, I become the destroyer of my own flesh and blood!  Yes, seh! and lest I might still find some room to boast, another change moves me into a position where it suits me, my-de’-seh, to make the restitution so fatal to those of my name.  When you and I first met, those ladies were as much strangers to me as to you—­as far as I knew.  Then, if I had done this thing—­but now—­now, my-de’-seh, I find myself in love with one of them!”