How far the Citizen Captain would have gone is problematical.  I had noticed a look of disgust slowly creeping into the Citizen Quartermaster’s eyes, and at this juncture he seized the Citizen Captain and thrust him into a chair.

“Sacre vent!” he exclaimed, “it is the proclamation—­he recites the proclamation!  I see he have participate in those handbill.  Poof, the world is to conquer,—­let us not spik so much.”

“I give you one toast,” said the little Citizen Gignoux, slyly, “we all bring back one wife from Nouvelle Orleans!

“Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gre, laughing, “the Citizen Captain Depeau—­he has already one wife in Nouvelle Orleans."[1]

[1] It is unnecessary for the editor to remind the reader that these are not Mr. Ritchie’s words, but those of an adventurer.  Mr. Depeau was an honest and worthy gentleman, earnest enough in a cause which was more to his credit than to an American’s.  According to contemporary evidence, Madame Depeau was in New Orleans.

The Citizen Quartermaster was angry at this, and it did not require any great perspicacity on my part to discover that he did not love the Citizen de St. Gre.

“He is call in his country, Gumbo de St. Gre,” said Citizen Depeau.  “It is a deesh in that country.  But to beesness, citizens,—­we embark on glorious enterprise.  The King and Queen of France, she pay for her treason with their haids, and we must be prepare’ for do the sem.”

“Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gre, “the Citizen Quartermaster will lose his provision before his haid.”

The inference was plain, and the Citizen Quartermaster was quick to take it up.

“We are all among frien’s,” said he.  “Why I call you Gumbo de St. Gre?  When I come first settle in Louisiane you was wild man—­yes.  Drink tafia, fight duel, spend family money.  Aristocrat then.  No, I not hold my tongue.  You go France and Monsieur le Marquis de St. Gre he get you in gardes du corps of the King.  Yes, I tell him.  You tell the Citizen General how come you Jacobin now, and we see if he mek you Captain.”

A murmur of surprise escaped from several of the company, and they all stared at the Sieur de St. Gre.  But General Clark brought down his fist on the table with something of his old-time vigor, and the glasses rattled.

“Gentlemen, I will have no quarrelling in my presence,” he cried; “and I beg to inform Citizen Depeau that I bestow my commissions where it pleases me.”

Auguste de St. Gre rose, flushing, to his feet.  “Citizens,” he said, with a fluency that was easy for him, “I never mek secret of my history—­no.  It is true my relation, Monsieur le Marquis de St. Gre, bought me a pair of colors in the King’s gardes du corps.”

“And is it not truth you tremple the coackade, what I hear from Philadelphe?” cried Depeau.

Monsieur Auguste smiled with a patient tolerance.

“If you hev pains to mek inquiry,” said he, “you must learn that I join le Marquis de La Fayette and the National Guard.  That I have since fight for the Revolution.  That I am come now home to fight for Louisiane, as Monsieur Genet will tell you whom I saw in Philadelphe.”