“A matter of business called young Nancanou to New Orleans.  He had no friends here; he was a Creole, but what part of his life had not been spent on his plantation he had passed in Europe.  He could not leave his young girl of a wife alone in that exiled sort of plantation life, so he brought her and the child (a girl) down with him as far as to her father’s place, left them there, and came on to the city alone.

“Now, what does the old man do but give him a letter of introduction to old Agricole Fusilier! (His name is Agricola, but we shorten it to Agricole.) It seems that old De Grapion and Agricole had had the indiscretion to scrape up a mutually complimentary correspondence.  And to Agricole the young man went.

“They became intimate at once, drank together, danced with the quadroons together, and got into as much mischief in three days as I ever did in a fortnight.  So affairs went on until by and by they were gambling together.  One night they were at the Piety Club, playing hard, and the planter lost his last quarti.  He became desperate, and did a thing I have known more than one planter to do:  wrote his pledge for every arpent of his land and every slave on it, and staked that.  Agricole refused to play.  ‘You shall play,’ said Nancanou, and when the game was ended he said:  ‘Monsieur Agricola Fusilier, you cheated.’  You see?  Just as I have frequently been tempted to remark to my friend, Mr. Frowenfeld.

“But, Frowenfeld, you must know, withal the Creoles are such gamblers, they never cheat; they play absolutely fair.  So Agricole had to challenge the planter.  He could not be blamed for that; there was no choice—­oh, now, Frowenfeld, keep quiet!  I tell you there was no choice.  And the fellow was no coward.  He sent Agricole a clear title to the real estate and slaves,—­lacking only the wife’s signature,—­accepted the challenge and fell dead at the first fire.

“Stop, now, and let me finish.  Agricole sat down and wrote to the widow that he did not wish to deprive her of her home, and that if she would state in writing her belief that the stakes had been won fairly, he would give back the whole estate, slaves and all; but that if she would not, he should feel compelled to retain it in vindication of his honor.  Now wasn’t that drawing a fine point?” The doctor laughed according to his habit, with his face down in his hands.  “You see, he wanted to stand before all creation—­the Creator did not make so much difference—­in the most exquisitely proper light; so he puts the laws of humanity under his feet, and anoints himself from head to foot with Creole punctilio.”

“Did she sign the paper?” asked Joseph.

“She?  Wait till you know her!  No, indeed; she had the true scorn.  She and her father sent down another and a better title.  Creole-like, they managed to bestir themselves to that extent and there they stopped.