At that moment there were footsteps in the court-yard, and the orderly appeared at the door, saluting, and speaking in Spanish.

“His Excellency the Governor!”

We rose, and Madame was courtesying and I was bowing to the little man.  He was in uniform, his face perspiring in the creases, his plump calves stretching his white stockings to the full.  Madame extended her hand and he kissed it, albeit he did not bend easily.  He spoke in French, and his voice betrayed the fact that his temper was near slipping its leash.  The Baron was a native of Flanders.

“To what happy circumstance do I owe the honor of this visit, Madame la Vicomtesse?” he asked.

“To a woman’s whim, Monsieur le Baron,” she answered, “for a man would not have dared to disturb you.  May I present to your Excellency, Mr. David Ritchie of Kentucky?”

His Excellency bowed stiffly, looked at me with no pretence of pleasure, and I had had sufficient dealings with men to divine that, in the coming conversation, the overflow of his temper would be poured upon me.  His first sensation was surprise.

“An American!” he said, in a tone that implied reproach to Madame la Vicomtesse for having fallen into such company.  “Ah,” he cried, breathing hard in the manner of stout people, “I remember you came down with Monsieur Vigo, Monsieur, did you not?”

It was my turn to be surprised.  If the Baron took a like cognizance of all my countrymen who came to New Orleans, he was a busy man indeed.

“Yes, your Excellency,” I answered.

“And you are a Federalist?” he said, though petulantly.

“I am, your Excellency.”

“Is your nation to overrun the earth?” said the Baron.  “Every morning when I ride through the streets it seems to me that more Americans have come.  Pardieu, I declare every day that, if it were not for the Americans, I should have ten years more of life ahead of me.”  I could not resist the temptation to glance at Madame la Vicomtesse.  Her eyes, half closed, betrayed an amusement that was scarce repressed.

“Come, Monsieur le Baron,” she said, “you and I have like beliefs upon most matters.  We have both suffered at the hands of people who have mistaken a fiend for a Lady.”

“You would have me believe, Madame,” the Baron put in, with a wit I had not thought in him, “that Mr. Ritchie knows a lady when he sees one.  I can readily believe it.”

Madame laughed.

“He at least has a negative knowledge,” she replied.  “And he has brought into New Orleans no coins, boxes, or clocks against your Excellency’s orders with the image and superscription of the Goddess in whose name all things are done.  He has not sung ‘Ca Ira’ at the theatres, and he detests the tricolored cockades as much as you do.”

The Baron laughed in spite of himself, and began to thaw.  There was a little more friendliness in his next glance at me.