The little Baron surprised me by laughing.  His irritability and his good nature ran in streaks.

“There is no occasion to, Mr. Ritchie,” he answered.  “I have seen something of men in my time.  In which category do you place your cousin, Mr. Temple?”

“If a love of travel and excitement and danger constitutes an adventurer, Mr. Temple is such,” I said.  “Fortunately the main spur of the adventurer’s character is lacking in his case.  I refer to the desire for money.  Mr. Temple has an annuity from his father’s estate in Charleston which puts him beyond the pale of the fortune-seeker, and I firmly believe that if your Excellency sees fit to allow him to leave the province, and if certain disquieting elements can be removed from his life” (I glanced at the Vicomtesse), “he will settle down and become a useful citizen of the United States.  As much as I dislike to submit to a stranger private details in the life of a member of my family, I feel that I must tell your Excellency something of Mr. Temple’s career, in order that you may know that restlessness and the thirst for adventure were the only motives that led him into this foolish undertaking.”

“Pray proceed, Mr. Ritchie,” said the Baron.

I was surprised not to find him more restless, and in addition the glance of approbation which the Vicomtesse gave me spurred me on.  However distasteful, I had the sense to see that I must hold nothing back of which his Excellency might at any time become cognizant, and therefore I told him as briefly as possible Nick’s story, leaving out only the episode with Antoinette.  When I came to the relation of the affairs which occurred at Les Iles five years before and told his Excellency that Mrs. Temple had since been living in the Rue Bourbon as Mrs. Clive, unknown to her son, the Baron broke in upon me.

“So the mystery of that woman is cleared at last,” he said, and turned to the Vicomtesse.  “I have learned that you have been a frequent visitor, Madame.”

“Not a sparrow falls to the ground in Louisiana that your Excellency does not hear of it,” she answered.

“And Gignoux?” he said, speaking to me again.

“As I told you, Monsieur le Baron,” I answered, “I have come to New Orleans at a personal sacrifice to induce my cousin to abandon this matter, and I went out last evening to try to get word of him.”  This was not strictly true.  “I saw Monsieur Gignoux in conference with some of your officers who came out of this hotel.”

“You have sharp eyes, Monsieur,” he remarked.

“I suspected the man when I met him in Kentucky,” I continued, not heeding this.  “Monsieur Vigo himself distrusted him.  To say that Gignoux were deep in the councils of the expedition, that he held a commission from Citizen Genet, I realize will have no weight with your Excellency,—­provided the man is in the secret service of his Majesty the King of Spain.”