“Professor, I am rejoiced!” He paused again, shaking the apothecary’s hand with great ceremony.  “I do assure you, sir, I dislike to relinquish your grasp.  Do me the honor to allow me to become your friend!  I congratulate my downtrodden country on the acquisition of such a citizen!  I hope, sir,—­at least I might have hoped, had not Louisiana just passed into the hands of the most clap-trap government in the universe, notwithstanding it pretends to be a republic,—­I might have hoped that you had come among us to fasten the lie direct upon a late author, who writes of us that ’the air of this region is deadly to the Muses.’”

“He didn’t say that?” asked one of the debaters, with pretended indignation.

“He did, sir, after eating our bread!”

“And sucking our sugar-cane, too, no doubt!” said the wag; but the old man took no notice.

Frowenfeld, naturally, was not anxious to reply, and was greatly relieved to be touched on the elbow by a child with a picayune in one hand and a tumbler in the other.  He escaped behind the counter and gladly remained there.

“Citizen Fusilier,” asked one of the gossips, “what has the new government to do with the health of the Muses?”

“It introduces the English tongue,” said the old man, scowling.

“Oh, well,” replied the questioner, “the Creoles will soon learn the language.”

“English is not a language, sir; it is a jargon!  And when this young simpleton, Claiborne, attempts to cram it down the public windpipe in the courts, as I understand he intends, he will fail!  Hah! sir, I know men in this city who would rather eat a dog than speak English!  I speak it, but I also speak Choctaw.”

“The new land titles will be in English.”

“They will spurn his rotten titles.  And if he attempts to invalidate their old ones, why, let him do it!  Napoleon Buonaparte” (Italian pronounciation) “will make good every arpent within the next two years. Think so? I know it! How? H-I perceive it!  H-I hope the yellow fever may spare you to witness it.”

A sullen grunt from the circle showed the “citizen” that he had presumed too much upon the license commonly accorded his advanced age, and by way of a diversion he looked around for Frowenfeld to pour new flatteries upon.  But Joseph, behind his counter, unaware of either the offense or the resentment, was blushing with pleasure before a visitor who had entered by the side door farthest from the company.

“Gentlemen,” said Agricola, “h-my dear friends, you must not expect an old Creole to like anything in comparison with la belle langue.”

“Which language do you call la belle?” asked Doctor Keene, with pretended simplicity.

The old man bent upon him a look of unspeakable contempt, which nobody noticed.  The gossips were one by one stealing a glance toward that which ever was, is and must be an irresistible lodestone to the eyes of all the sons of Adam, to wit, a chaste and graceful complement of—­skirts.  Then in a lower tone they resumed their desultory conversation.