“Yes,” said Nick, “there was once a family of that name.”

“And now?” said Monsieur Gratiot, puzzled.

“Now,” said Nick, “now they are become a worthless lot of refugees and outlaws, who by good fortune have escaped the gallows.”

Before Monsieur Gratiot could answer, a child came running around the corner of the house and stood, surprised, staring at us.  Nick made a face, stooped down, and twirled his finger.  Shouting with a terrified glee, the boy fled to the garden path, Nick after him.

“I like Mr. Temple,” said Monsieur Gratiot, smiling.  “He is young, but he seems to have had a history.”

“The Revolution ruined many families—­his was one,” I answered, with what firmness of tone I could muster.  And then Nick came back, carrying the shouting youngster on his shoulders.  At that instant a lady appeared in the doorway, leading another child, and we were introduced to Madame Gratiot.

“Gentlemen,” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you must make my house your home.  I fear your visit will not be as long as I could wish, Mr. Ritchie,” he added, turning to me, “if Mr. Wharton correctly states your business.  I have an engagement to have my furs in New Orleans by a certain time.  I am late in loading, and as there is a moon I am sending off my boats to-morrow night.  The men will have to work on Sunday.”

“We were fortunate to come in such good season,” I answered.

After a delicious supper of gumbo, a Creole dish, of fricassee, of creme brule, of red wine and fresh wild strawberries, we sat on the porch.  The crickets chirped in the garden, the moon cast fantastic shadows from the pecan tree on the grass, while Nick, struggling with his French, talked to Madame Gratiot; and now and then their gay laughter made Monsieur Gratiot pause and smile as he talked to me of my errand.  It seemed strange to me that a man who had lost so much by his espousal of our cause should still be faithful to the American republic.  Although he lived in Louisiana, he had never renounced the American allegiance which he had taken at Cahokia.  He regarded with no favor the pretensions of Spain toward Kentucky.  And (remarkably enough) he looked forward even then to the day when Louisiana would belong to the republic.  I exclaimed at this.

“Mr. Ritchie,” said he, “the most casual student of your race must come to the same conclusion.  You have seen for yourself how they have overrun and conquered Kentucky and the Cumberland districts, despite a hideous warfare waged by all the tribes.  Your people will not be denied, and when they get to Louisiana, they will take it, as they take everything else.”

He was a man strong in argument, was Monsieur Gratiot, for he loved it.  And he beat me fairly.