At evening, when the March wind had torn the cotton clouds to shreds, we stood on the Mississippi’s bank, gazing at the western shore, at Louisiana.  The low, forest-clad hills made a black band against the sky, and above the band hung the sun, a red ball.  He was setting, and man might look upon his face without fear.  The sight of the waters of that river stirred me to think of many things.  What had God in store for the vast land out of which the waters flowed?  Had He, indeed, saved it for a People, a People to be drawn from all nations, from all classes?  Was the principle of the Republic to prevail and spread and change the complexion of the world?  Or were the lusts of greed and power to increase until in the end they had swallowed the leaven?  Who could say?  What man of those who, soberly, had put his hand to the Paper which declared the opportunities of generations to come, could measure the Force which he had helped to set in motion.

We crossed the river to the village where I had been so kindly received many years ago—­to St. Louis.  The place was little changed.  The wind was stilled, the blue wood smoke curled lazily from the wide stone chimneys of the houses nestling against the hill.  The afterglow was fading into night; lights twinkled in the windows.  Followed by our servants we climbed the bank, Helene and I, and walked the quiet streets bordered by palings.  The evening was chill.  We passed a bright cabaret from which came the sound of many voices; in the blacksmith’s shop another group was gathered, and we saw faces eager in the red light.  They were talking of the Cession.

We passed that place where Nick had stopped Suzanne in the cart, and laughed at the remembrance.  We came to Monsieur Gratiot’s, for he had bidden us to stay with him.  And with Madame he gave us a welcome to warm our hearts after our journey.

“David,” he said, “I have seen many strange things happen in my life, but the strangest of all is that Clark’s drummer boy should have married a Vicomtesse of the old regime.”

And she was ever Madame la Vicomtesse to our good friends in St. Louis, for she was a woman to whom a title came as by nature’s right.

“And you are about to behold another strange thing David,” Monsieur Gratiot continued.  “To-day you are on French territory.”

“French territory!” I exclaimed.

“To-day Upper Louisiana is French,” he answered.  “To-morrow it will be American forever.  This morning Captain Stoddard of the United States Army, empowered to act as a Commissioner of the French Republic, arrived with Captain Lewis and a guard of American troops.  Today, at noon, the flag of Spain was lowered from the staff at the headquarters.  To-night a guard of honor watches with the French Tricolor, and we are French for the last time.  To-morrow we shall be Americans.”

I saw that simple ceremony.  The little company of soldiers was drawn up before the low stone headquarters, the villagers with heads uncovered gathered round about.  I saw the Stars and Stripes rising, the Tricolor setting.  They met midway on the staff, hung together for a space, and a salute to the two nations echoed among the hills across the waters of the great River that rolled impassive by.