turned to Kate and Adonis who approached at that moment. "How did you
come out, Adonis?"

"Out," he said, curtly.

"Lucky in love, unlucky at"--began Kate.

"Then you must be very unlucky in love," he retorted, "for you were a
good winner at cards."

"Oh, there are exceptions to that rule," said Kate lazily, with a
yawn. "I'm lucky at both--in New Orleans!"

"I have perceived it," retorted Adonis, bitterly.

"Don't quarrel," Susan implored. Regarding the table once more, she
sighed: "I'm so sorry I came!"

But her feet fairly danced as she flew towards the St. Charles. She
entered, airy as a saucy craft, with "all sails in full chase, ribbons
and gauzes streaming at the top," and, with a frou-frou of skirts,
burst into Constance's room, brimful of news and importance. She
remained there for some time, and when she left, it was noteworthy her
spirits were still high. In crossing the hall, her red stockings
became a fitting color accompaniment to her sprightly step, as she
moved over the heavy carpet, skirts raised coquettishly, humming with
the gaiety of a young girl who has just left boarding school.

"A blooming, innocent creature!" growled an up-the-river planter,
surveying her from one of the landings. "Lord love me, if she were
only a quadroon, I'd buy her!"

CHAPTER IX

A DEBUT IN THE CRESCENT CITY

A versatile dramatic poet is grim Destiny, making with equal facility
tragedy, farce, burletta, masque or mystery. The world is his inn,
and, like the wandering master of interludes, he sets up his stage in
the court-yard, beneath the windows of mortals, takes out his figures
and evolves charming comedies, stirring melodramas, spirited
harlequinades and moving divertissement. But it is in tragedy his
constructive ability is especially apparent, and his characters,
tripping along unsuspectingly in the sunny byways, are suddenly
confronted by the terrifying mask and realize life is not all pleasant
pastime and that the Greek philosophy of retribution is nature's law,
preserving the unities. When the time comes, the Master of events,
adjusting them in prescribed lines, reaches by stern obligation the
avoidless conclusion.

Consulting no law but his own will, the Marquis de Ligne had lived as
though he were the autocrat of fate itself instead of one of its
servants, and therefore was surprised when the venerable playwright
prepared the unexpected denouement. In pursuance of this end, it was
decreed