thnological reflection--nothing more.

The act, however, had helped to pique my curiosity; and I felt desirous
of knowing at least the name of this distinguished creature.

The "steward," thought I, may serve my purpose, and I turned towards
that individual.

He was a tall, grey-haired, lathy, old Frenchman, well-dressed, and
sufficiently respectable-looking to have passed for the lady's father.
His aspect, too, was quite venerable, giving you the idea of long
service and a very old family.

I saw, as I approached him, that my chances were but indifferent. I
found him as "close as a clam." Our conversation was very brief; his
answers laconic.

"Monsieur, may I ask who is your mistress?"

"A lady."

"True: any one may tell that who has the good fortune of looking at her.
It was her name I asked for."

"It does not concern you to know it."

"Not if it be of so much importance to keep it a secret!"

"_Sacr-r-re_!"

This exclamation, muttered, rather than spoken aloud, ended the
dialogue; and the old fellow turned away on giving expression to it--no
doubt cursing me in his heart as a meddling Yankee.

I applied myself to the sable Jehu of the barouche, but with no better
success. He was getting his horses aboard, and not liking to give
direct answers to my questions, he "dodged" them by dodging around his
horses, and appearing to be very busy on the offside. Even the _name_ I
was unable to get out of him, and I also gave _him_ up in despair.

The name, however, was furnished me shortly after from an unexpected
source. I had returned to the boat, and had seated myself once more
under the awning, watching the boatmen, with rolled-up red shirts, use
their brawny arms in getting their freight aboard. I saw it was the
same which had been delivered from the drays--the property of the lady.
It consisted, for the most part, of barrels of pork and flour, with a
quantity of dried hams, and some bags of coffee.

"Provisions for her large establishment," soliloquised I.

Just then some packages of a different character were pushed upon the
staging. These were leathern trunks, travelling bags, rosewood cases,
bonnet-boxes, and the like.

"Ha! her personal luggage," I again reflected, and continued to puff my
cigar. Regarding the transfer of the trunks, my eye was suddenly
attracted to some lettering that appeared upon one of the packages--a
leathern portmanteau. I sprang from my seat, and as the article was