The seniors were found at a table for four.
Mme. De l'Isle explained: "But! with only four to sit down there, how
was it possib' to h-ask for a tab'e for six? That wou'n' be logical!"
When the waiter offered to add a smaller table and make one snug board
for six--"No," she said; "for feet and hands that be all right; but for
the _mind_, ah! You see, Mr. Chezter, M. De l'Isle he's also precizely
in the mi'l' of a moze overwhelming story of his own------"
"Hiztorical!" the aunts broke in. "Well-known! abbout old house! in
the _vieux carré_!"
"And," madame insisted, "'twould ruin that story, to us, to commenze to
hear it over, while same time 'twould ruin it to you to commenze to
hear it in the mi'l'. And beside', Aline, you are doubtlezz yet in the
mi'l' of your own story and--waiter! make there at that firz' window a
tab'e for two, and" [to the pair] "we'll run both storie' ad the same
time--if not three!"
"Like that circ'"--the aunts fell into tears of laughter. They touched
each other with finger-tips, cried, "Like that circuz of Barnum!" and
repeated to the De l'Isles and then to Aline, "Like that circuz of
Barnum an' Bailey!"
At the table for two, as the gumbo was uncovered and Chester asked how
it was made, "Ah!" said Aline, "for a veritable gumbo what you want
most is enthusiasm. The enthusiasm of both my aunts would not be too
much. And to tell how 'tis made you'd need no less, that would be a
story by itself, third ring of the circus."
"Then tell me, further, of '_grandpère_'"
"And grand'mère? Yes, I must, as I learned about them on papa's knee.
Mamma never saw them; they had been years gone when papa first knew
her. But Sidney I knew, when she was old and had seen all those
dreadful times; and, though she often would not tell me the story, she
would tell me what to ask papa; you see? You would have liked to talk
with Sidney about old buildings. Mr. Chester, I think it is not that
in New Orleans we are so picturesque, but that all the rest of our
country--in the cities--is so starved for the picturesque. Sidney
would have told you that story monsieur is telling now as well as all
the strange history of that old Hotel St. Louis. First, after the war
it was changed back from a hospital to a hotel. I think 'twas then
they called it Hotel Royal. Anyhow 'twas again very fine. Grandpère
and grand'mère were often in that salon where he had first--as they
say--spoken. Because, for one thing, there they met people of the
outside world without the local prejudices, you know?"
"At that time bitter and vindictive?"
"Oh, ferocious! And there they met also people of the most--dignity."
"Above the average of the other hotels?"
"Well, not so--so brisk."
"Not so American?"
"Ah, you know. Well, maybe that's one reason the St. Charles, for
example, continued, while the Royal did not. Anyhow the
Royal--grandpère had the life habit of it and 'twas just across the
street. Daily they ate there; a real economy."
"But they kept the old home."
"Yes. 'Twas furnished the same but not 'run' the same. 'Twas very
difficult to keep it, even with all three stories of the servants' wing
shut up, you know?--like"--a glance indicated the De l'Isles.
"But you say Hotel Royal was soon closed."
"Yes, and then, in the worst of those days, it became the capitol.
There, in the most elegant hotel for the most elegant planters of the
South--anyhow Southwest--sat their slaves, with white men even more
abhorred, and made the laws. In that old dome, second story, they put
a floor across, and there sat the Senate! Just over that auction-block
where grandpère had bought Mingo."
"Where was he--Mingo?"
"Dead--of drink. Grandpère was in that government! Long time he was
senator. Mr. Chester, _for that_ papa was proud of him, and I am
proud."
The listener was proud of her pride. "I know," he said, "from my own
people, that in such an attitude--as your grandfather's--there was
honor a plenty for any honorable man. Ovide tells me the negroes never
wanted negro supremacy. I wonder if that's so. They were often, he
says, madly foolish and corrupt; yet their fundamental lawmaking was
mostly good. I know the State's constitution was; it was ahead of the
times."
Aline made a quick gesture: "And any of the old masters who agreed to
that could help lead!"
"Mademoiselle, how could they agree to it? Some did, I know, but
that's the wonder. Those that could not--who can blame them?"
"Ah! 'tis no longer a question of blame but of judgment. So papa used
to say. Anyhow grandpère agreed, accepted, led; until at the last, one
day, that White League--you've heard of them, how they armed and
drilled and rose against that reconstruction police in a battle on the
steamboat landing? Grandpère was in that. He commanded part of the
reconstruction forces. And papa was there, though only thirteen.
Grandpère was bayonet-wounded. They carried him away bleeding. Only
at the State-house a surgeon met them, and there, under that dome, just
as papa brought grand'mère and Sidney, he died." Mademoiselle ceased.
Chester waited, but she glanced to the other table. Monsieur had ended
his recital. Madame and the aunts chatted merrily. Smilingly the
niece's eyes came back.
"Don't stop," said Chester. "What followed--for 'Maud'--Sidney--your
boy father--your little-girl aunts? Did the clock in the sky call them
North again?"
"No." The speaker rose. "I'll tell you on the train; I hear it
coming."