“Ah ham de holdez son of Numa Grandissime.”

“Yes—­yes,” said Frowenfeld, as if he would wave away something terrible.

“Nod sell me—­ouangan?” asked the landlord, again.

“Sir,” exclaimed Frowenfeld, taking a step backward, “pardon me if I offend you; that mixture of blood which draws upon you the scorn of this community is to me nothing—­nothing!  And every invidious distinction made against you on that account I despise!  But, sir, whatever may be either your private wrongs, or the wrongs you suffer in common with your class, if you have it in your mind to employ any manner of secret art against the interests or person of any one—­”

The landlord was making silent protestations, and his tenant, lost in a wilderness of indignant emotions, stopped.

“M’sieu’,” began the quadroon, but ceased and stood with an expression of annoyance every moment deepening on his face, until he finally shook his head slowly, and said with a baffled smile:  “Ah can nod spig Engliss.”

“Write it,” said Frowenfeld, lifting forward a chair.

The landlord, for the first time in their acquaintance, accepted a seat, bowing low as he did so, with a demonstration of profound gratitude that just perceptibly heightened his even dignity.  Paper, quills, and ink were handed down from a shelf and Joseph retired into the shop.

Honore Grandissime, f.m.c. (these initials could hardly have come into use until some months later, but the convenience covers the sin of the slight anachronism), Honore Grandissime, free man of color, entered from the rear room so silently that Joseph was first made aware of his presence by feeling him at his elbow.  He handed the apothecary—­but a few words in time, lest we misjudge.

* * * * *

The father of the two Honores was that Numa Grandissime—­that mere child—­whom the Grand Marquis, to the great chagrin of the De Grapions, had so early cadetted.  The commission seems not to have been thrown away.  While the province was still in first hands, Numa’s was a shining name in the annals of Kerlerec’s unsatisfactory Indian wars; and in 1768 (when the colonists, ill-informed, inflammable, and long ill-governed, resisted the transfer of Louisiana to Spain), at a time of life when most young men absorb all the political extravagances of their day, he had stood by the side of law and government, though the popular cry was a frenzied one for “liberty.”  Moreover, he had held back his whole chafing and stamping tribe from a precipice of disaster, and had secured valuable recognition of their office-holding capacities from that really good governor and princely Irishman whose one act of summary vengeance upon a few insurgent office-coveters has branded him in history as Cruel O’Reilly.  But the experience of those days turned Numa gray, and withal he was not satisfied with their outcome.  In the midst of the struggle