d at this, for the name
of Louis had been held in almost Godlike reverence by us in the
colonies. Meanwhile he had turned to me:

"Well said, young man; thou hast a loyal tongue."

"And a loyal master, sire," for it needed not the mention of his name
to tell me I faced the King. That face, stamped on his every golden
namesake, had been familiar to me since the earliest days of my
childhood.

"Thy name, sir?"

Kingly still, though a little bent, for he was now well past sixty,
Louis stood in his high-heeled shoes tapping the ground impatiently
with a long cane, his flowing coat fluttering in the wind. For a
period I completely lost my tongue, could see nothing but the blazing
cross of the Holy Ghost, the red order of St. Louis, upon the Monarch's
breast, could hear nothing but the grating of his cane against the
gravel. Yet I was not ashamed, for a brave soldier can proudly fear
his God, his conscience and his King.

"Thy name," he sharply demanded, "dost hear?"

"Placide de Mouret, Captain of Bienville's Guards, Province of
Louisiana, may it please you, sire," I stammered out.

"Attend me at the morning hour to-morrow," and he strutted away from
the giggling crowd.

I too would have turned off, had not my late antagonist proven himself
a man at heart. He quickly moved toward me holding out his hand in
reconciliation.

"I ask thy pardon, comrade; I too am a soldier, though but an
indifferent one in these peaceful times. We mistook thee, and I humbly
ask thy pardon."

Of course I could bear no malice against the fellow, and he seeming
sincere, I suffered him to present me to his friends. First among
these, de Brienne presented me to His Royal Highness, the Duke of
Orleans, "First Prince of the Blood, and the coming Regent of France."

This latter speech was given with decided emphasis, and a malicious
glance toward a pale, studious looking man, a cripple, who, the center
of a more sedate group, was well within hearing. The deformed Duke of
Maine, I thought, rival of Orleans for the Regency. The ladies I would
have willingly escaped, but they would not hear of it, and soon I was
surrounded by a chattering group, asking a thousand questions about the
fabled land of gold and glory beyond the seas. Right glad was I when
one of the gallants pointed out a thoughtful looking gentleman who
walked slowly through the eastern gate.

"There is M. de Serigny, a brother of Bienville, your Governor."

"That d