of orange or down their long, overarched avenues of oleander; and the lemon and the pomegranate, the banana, the fig, the shaddock, and at times even the mango and the guava, joined “hands around” and tossed their fragrant locks above the lilies and roses.  Frowenfeld forgot to ask himself further concerning the probable intent of M. Grandissime’s invitation to ride; these beauties seemed rich enough in good reasons.  He felt glad and grateful.

At a certain point the two horses turned of their own impulse, as by force of habit, and with a few clambering strides mounted to the top of the levee and stood still, facing the broad, dancing, hurrying, brimming river.

The Creole stole an amused glance at the elated, self-forgetful look of his immigrant friend.

“Mr. Frowenfeld,” he said, as the delighted apothecary turned with unwonted suddenness and saw his smile, “I believe you like this better than discussion.  You find it easier to be in harmony with Louisiana than with Louisianians, eh?”

Frowenfeld colored with surprise.  Something unpleasant had lately occurred in his shop.  Was this to signify that M. Grandissime had heard of it?

“I am a Louisianian,” replied he, as if this were a point assailed.

“I would not insinuate otherwise,” said M. Grandissime, with a kindly gesture.  “I would like you to feel so.  We are citizens now of a different government from that under which we lived the morning we first met.  Yet”—­the Creole paused and smiled—­“you are not, and I am glad you are not, what we call a Louisianian.”

Frowenfeld’s color increased.  He turned quickly in his saddle as if to say something very positive, but hesitated, restrained himself and asked: 

“Mr. Grandissime, is not your Creole ‘we’ a word that does much damage?”

The Creole’s response was at first only a smile, followed by a thoughtful countenance; but he presently said, with some suddenness: 

“My-de’-seh, yes.  Yet you see I am, even this moment, forgetting we are not a separate people.  Yes, our Creole ‘we’ does damage, and our Creole ‘you’ does more.  I assure you, sir, I try hard to get my people to understand that it is time to stop calling those who come and add themselves to the community, aliens, interlopers, invaders.  That is what I hear my cousins, ’Polyte and Sylvestre, in the heat of discussion, called you the other evening; is it so?”

“I brought it upon myself,” said Frowenfeld.  “I brought it upon myself.”

“Ah!” interrupted M. Grandissime, with a broad smile, “excuse me—­I am fully prepared to believe it.  But the charge is a false one.  I told them so.  My-de’-seh—­I know that a citizen of the United States in the United States has a right to become, and to be called, under the laws governing the case, a Louisianian, a Vermonter, or a Virginian, as it may suit his whim; and even if he should be found dishonest or dangerous, he has a right to be treated just exactly as we treat the knaves and ruffians who are native born!  Every discreet man must admit that.”