Ay, and there was yet another sort.  Every flatboatman who returned to Kentucky was full of tales of the marvellous beauty of the quadroons and octoroons, stories which I had taken with a grain of salt; but they had not indeed been greatly overdrawn.  For here were these ladies in the flesh, their great, opaque, almond eyes consuming us with a swift glance, and each walking with a languid grace beside her duenna.  Their faces were like old ivory, their dress the stern Miro himself could scarce repress.  In former times they had been lavish in their finery, and even now earrings still gleamed and color broke out irrepressibly.

Nick was delighted, but he had not dragged me twice the length of the esplanade ere his eye was caught by a young lady in pink who sauntered between an elderly gentleman in black silk and a young man more gayly dressed.

“Egad,” said Nick, “there is my divinity, and I need not look a step farther.”

I laughed.

“You have but to choose, I suppose, and all falls your way,” I answered.

“But look!” he cried, halting me to stare after the girl, “what a face, and what a form!  And what a carriage, by Jove!  There is breeding for you!  And Davy, did you mark the gentle, rounded arm?  Thank heaven these short sleeves are the fashion.”

“You are mad, Nick,” I answered, pulling him on, “these people are not to be stared at so.  And once I present our letters to Monsieur de Saint-Gre, it will not be difficult to know any of them.”

“Look!” said he, “that young man, lover or husband, is a brute.  On my soul, they are quarrelling.”

The three had stopped by a bench under a tree.  The young man, who wore claret silk and a sword, had one of those thin faces of dirty complexion which show the ravages of dissipation, and he was talking with a rapidity and vehemence of which only a Latin tongue will admit.  We could see, likewise, that the girl was answering with spirit,—­indeed, I should write a stronger word than spirit,—­while the elderly gentleman, who had a good-humored, fleshy face and figure, was plainly doing his best to calm them both.  People who were passing stared curiously at the three.

“Your divinity evidently has a temper,” I remarked.

“For that scoundel—­certainly,” said Nick; “but come, they are moving on.”

“You mean to follow them?” I exclaimed.

“Why not?” said he.  “We will find out where they live and who they are, at least.”

“And you have taken a fancy to this girl?”

“I have looked them all over, and she’s by far the best I’ve seen.  I can say so much honestly.”

“But she may be married,” I said weakly.

“Tut, Davy,” he answered, “it’s more than likely, from the violence of their quarrel.  But if so, we will try again.”

“We!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, come on!” he cried, dragging me by the sleeve, “or we shall lose them.”