what evidently was claret punch. The sounds of their jests and laughter
pursued us out of the house.

The town was waking from its siesta, the streets filling, and people
stopped to stare at Nick as we passed. But Nick, who was plainly in
search of something he did not find, hurried on. We soon came to the
quarter which had suffered most from the fire, where new houses had gone
up or were in the building beside the blackened logs of many of
Bienville's time. Then we came to a high white wall that surrounded a
large garden, and within it was a long, massive building of some beauty
and pretension, with a high, latticed belfry and heavy walls and with
arched dormers in the sloping roof. As we stood staring at it through
the iron grille set in the archway of the lodge, Nick declared that it
put him in mind of some of the chateaux he had seen in France, and he
crossed the street to get a better view of the premises. An old man in
coarse blue linen came out of the lodge and spoke to me.

"It is the convent of the good nuns, the Ursulines, Monsieur," he said in
French, "and it was built long ago in the Sieur de Bienville's time, when
the colony was young. For forty-five years, Monsieur, the young ladies
of the city have come here to be educated."

"What does he say?" demanded Nick, pricking up his ears as he came across
the street.

"That young men have been sent to the mines of Brazil for climbing the
walls," I answered.

"Who wants to climb the walls?" said Nick, disgusted.

"The young ladies of the town go to school here," I answered; "it is a
convent."

"It might serve to pass the time," said Nick, gazing with a new interest
at the latticed windows. "How much would you take, my friend, to let us
in at the back way this evening?" he demanded of the porter in French.

The good man gasped, lifted his hands in horror, and straightway let
loose upon Nick a torrent of French invectives that had not the least
effect except to cause a blacksmith's apprentice and two negroes to stop
and stare at us.

"Pooh!" exclaimed Nick, when the man had paused for want of breath, "it
is no trick to get over that wall."

"Bon Dieu!" cried the porter, "you are Kentuckians, yes? I might have
known that you were Kentuckians, and I shall advise the good sisters to
put glass on the wall and keep a watch."

"The young ladies are beautiful, you say?" said Nick.

At this juncture, with the negroes grinning and the porter near bursting
wit