with his daughter?

The dancing went on with unabated zeal, and through the open door in the
fainting azure of the sky the summer moon hung above the hills like a
great yellow orange. Striving to hide my uneasiness, I made my farewells
to Madame Chouteau's sons and daughters and their friends, and with
Colonel Chouteau I left the hall and began to walk towards Monsieur
Gratiot's, hoping against hope that Nick had gone there to change. But
we had scarce reached the road before we could see two figures in the
distance, hazily outlined in the mid-light of the departed sun and the
coming moon. The first was Monsieur Gratiot himself, the second Benjy.
Monsieur Gratiot took me by the hand.

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Ritchie," said he, politely, "that my keel
boats are loaded and ready to leave. Were you on any other errand I
should implore you to stay with us."

"Is Temple at your house?" I asked faintly.

"Why, no," said Monsieur Gratiot; "I thought he was with you at the
ball."

"Where is your master?" I demanded sternly of Benjy.

"I ain't seed him, Marse Dave, sence I put him inter dem fine clothes 'at
he w'ars a-cou'tin'."

"He has gone off with the girl," put in Colonel Chouteau, laughing.

"But where?" I said, with growing anger at this lack of consideration on
Nick's part.

"I'll warrant that Gaspard or Hippolyte Beaujais will know, if they can
be found," said the Colonel. "Neither of them willingly lets the girl
out of his sight."

As we hurried back towards the throbbing sounds of Zeron's fiddle I
apologized as best I might to Monsieur Gratiot, declaring that if Nick
were not found within the half-hour I would leave without him. My host
protested that an hour or so would make no difference. We were about to
pass through the group of loungers that loitered by the gate when the
sound of rapid footsteps arrested us, and we turned to confront two
panting and perspiring young men who halted beside us. One was Hippolyte
Beaujais, more fantastic than ever as he faced the moon, and the other
was Gaspard. They had plainly made a common cause, but it was Hippolyte
who spoke.

"Monsieur," he cried, "you seek your friend? Ha, we have found him,--we
will lead you to him."

"Where is he?" said Colonel Chouteau, repressing another laugh.

"On the pond, Monsieur,--in a boat, Monsieur, with Suzanne, Monsieur le
Colonel! And, moreover, he will come ashore for no one."

"Parbleu," said the Colonel, "I should think