“Jools,” said the West-Floridian, laying his great hand tenderly upon the Creole’s shoulder, as they stepped out upon the banquette, “do you think you have any shore hopes of heaven?”

“Yass!” replied St.-Ange; “I am sure-sure.  I thing everybody will go to heaven.  I thing you will go, et I thing Miguel will go, et Joe—­everybody, I thing—­mais, hof course, not if they not have been christen’.  Even I thing some niggers will go.”

“Jools,” said the parson, stopping in his walk—­“Jools, I don’t want to lose my niggah.”

“You will not loose him.  With Baptiste he cannot ged loose.”

But Colossus’s master was not reassured.

“Now,” said he, still tarrying, “this is jest the way; had I of gone to church—­”

“Posson Jone’,” said Jules.

“What?”

“I tell you.  We goin’ to church!”

“Will you?” asked Jones, joyously.

“Allons, come along,” said Jules, taking his elbow.

They walked down the Rue Chartres, passed several corners, and by and by turned into a cross street.  The parson stopped an instant as they were turning and looked back up the street.

“W’at you lookin’?” asked his companion.

“I thought I saw Colossus,” answered the parson, with an anxious face; “I reckon ’twa’n’t him, though.”  And they went on.

The street they now entered was a very quiet one.  The eye of any chance passer would have been at once drawn to a broad, heavy, white brick edifice on the lower side of the way, with a flag-pole standing out like a bowsprit from one of its great windows, and a pair of lamps hanging before a large closed entrance.  It was a theatre, honey-combed with gambling-dens.  At this morning hour all was still, and the only sign of life was a knot of little barefoot girls gathered within its narrow shade, and each carrying an infant relative.  Into this place the parson and M. St.-Ange entered, the little nurses jumping up from the sills to let them pass in.

A half-hour may have passed.  At the end of that time the whole juvenile company were laying alternate eyes and ears to the chinks, to gather what they could of an interesting quarrel going on within.

“I did not, saw!  I given you no cause of offence, saw!  It’s not so, saw!  Mister Jools simply mistaken the house, thinkin’ it was a Sabbath-school!  No such thing, saw; I ain’t bound to bet!  Yes, I kin git out.  Yes, without bettin’!  I hev a right to my opinion; I reckon I’m a white man, saw!  No, saw!  I on’y said I didn’t think you could get the game on them cards.  ’Sno such thing, saw!  I do not know how to play!  I wouldn’t hev a rascal’s money ef I should win it!  Shoot, ef you dare!  You can kill me, but you cayn’t scare me!  No, I shayn’t bet!  I’ll die first!  Yes, saw; Mr. Jools can bet for me if he admires to; I ain’t his mostah.”

Here the speaker seemed to direct his words to St.-Ange.