“It is not over yet,” said the Vicomtesse.

“And Davy,” continued Nick, bowing to me, “gets his pleasures and excitement by extracting me from my various entanglements.  Well, there is not much to tell.  St. Gre and I were joined above Natchez by that little pig, Citizen Gignoux, and we shot past De Lemos in the night.  Since then we have been permitted to sleep—­no more—­at various plantations.  We have been waked up at barbarous hours in the morning and handed on, as it were.  They were all fond of us, but likewise they were all afraid of the Baron.  What day is to-day?  Monday?  Then it was on Saturday that we lost Gignoux.”

“I have reason to think that he has already sold out to the Baron,” I put in.

“Eh?”

“I saw him in communication with the police at the Governor’s hotel last night,” I answered.

Nick was silent for a moment.

“Well,” he said, “that may make some excitement.”  Then he laughed.  “I wonder why Auguste didn’t think of doing that,” he said.  “And now, what?”

“How did you get to this house?” I said.

“We came down on Saturday night, after we had lost Gignoux above the city.”

“Do you know where you are?” I asked.

“Not I,” said Nick.  “I have been playing piquet with Lamarque most of the time since I arrived.  He is one of the pleasantest men I have met in Louisiana, although a little taciturn, as you perceive, and more than a little deaf.  I think he does not like Auguste.  He seems to have known him in his youth.”

Madame la Vicomtesse looked at him with interest.

“You are at Les Iles, Nick,” I said; “you are on Monsieur de St. Gre’s plantation, and within a quarter of a mile of his house.”

His face became grave all at once.  He seized me by both shoulders, and looked into my face.

“You say that we are at Les Iles?” he repeated slowly.

I nodded, seeing the deception which Auguste had evidently practised in order to get him here.  Then Nick dropped his arms, went to the door, and stood for a long time with his back turned to us, looking out over the fields.  When finally he spoke it was in the tone he used in anger.

“If I had him now, I think I would kill him,” he said.

Auguste had deluded him in other things, had run away and deserted him in a strange land.  But this matter of bringing him to Les Iles was past pardon.  It was another face he turned to the Vicomtesse, a stronger face, a face ennobled by a just anger.

“Madame la Vicomtesse,” he said, “I have a vague notion that you are related to Monsieur de St. Gre.  I give you my word of honor as a gentleman that I had no thought of trespassing upon him in any way.”

“Mr. Temple, we were so sure of that—­Mr. Ritchie and I—­that we should not have sought for you here otherwise,” she replied quickly.  Then she glanced at me as though seeking my approval for her next move.  It was characteristic of her that she did not now shirk a task imposed by her sense of duty.  “We have little time, Mr. Temple, and much to say.  Perhaps you will excuse us, Lamarque,” she added graciously, in French.