The reply was a majestic growl.
"I never jest!" The speaker half sat down, then straightened up again. "Ah, the Marquis of Caso Calvo!--I must bow to him, though an honest man's bow is more than he deserves."
"More than he deserves?" was Frowenfeld's query.
"More than he deserves!" was the response.
"What has he done? I have never heard----"
The denunciator turned upon Frowenfeld his most royal frown, and retorted with a question which still grows wild in Louisiana:
"What"--he seemed to shake his mane--"what has he not done, sir?" and then he withdrew his frown slowly, as if to add, "You'll be careful next time how you cast doubt upon a public official's guilt."
The marquis's cavalcade came briskly jingling by. Frowenfeld saw within the carriage two men, one in citizen's dress, the other in a brilliant uniform. The latter leaned forward, and, with a cordiality which struck the young spectator as delightful, bowed. The immigrant glanced at Citizen Fusilier, expecting to see the greeting returned with great haughtiness; instead of which that person uncovered his leonine head, and, with a solemn sweep of his cocked hat, bowed half his length. Nay, he more than bowed, he bowed down--so that the action hurt Frowenfeld from head to foot.
"What large gentlemen was that sitting on the other side?" asked the young man, as his companion sat down with the air of having finished an oration.
"No gentleman at all!" thundered the citizen. "That fellow" (beetling frown), "that fellow is Edward Livingston."