Mademoiselle, picking up her dress, ran
up the steps ahead of us and turned to the left in the hall into a
darkened parlor. The floor was bare, save for a few mats, and in the
corner was a massive escritoire of mahogany with carved feet, and there
were tables and chairs of a like pattern. It was a room of more
distinction than I had seen since I had been in Charlestown, and
reflected the solidity of its owners.
"If you will be so kind as to wait here, Messieurs," said Mademoiselle,
"I will call my mother."
And she left us.
I sat down, rather uncomfortably, but Nick took a stand and stood staring
down at me with folded arms.
"How I have undervalued you, Davy," he said.
"I am not proud of it," I answered shortly.
"What the deuce is to do now!" he asked.
"I cannot linger here," I answered; "I have business with Monsieur de
Saint-Gre, and I must go back to New Orleans at once."
"Then I will wait for you," said Nick. "Davy, I have met my fate."
I laughed in spite of myself.
"It seems to me that I have heard that remark before," I answered.
He had not time to protest, for we heard footsteps in the hall, and
Mademoiselle entered, leading an older lady by the hand. In the light of
the doorway I saw that she was thin and small and yellow, but her
features had a regularity and her mien a dignity which made her
impressing, which would have convinced a stranger that she was a person
of birth and breeding.
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