"Yes, I thought you of Languedoc, from your speech. So the climate is with us in our parts beyond the seas. Beneath our southern sun ice is a thing almost unknown, and the snow never comes."
"And where do you live, my lord?" his eyes wide open and shallow.
I felt somewhat flattered at his artless recognition of the difference In our stations.
"In Biloxi; the Southern Provinces, Louisiana," I explained, "whereof Bienville is governor."
Afterward I thought I could remember a knowing twinkle in the fellow's eye, which passed unnoticed at the moment.
"Ah, I hear much of the colonies; it must be a goodly land to dwell in, but for the savages and the cannibals."
I laughed outright.
"Verily, friend, we have no cannibals worse than the barbarous Spaniards who wait but the chance to slaughter our garrison," and before I was aware, I had told him of my voyage from Biloxi, and of going to Versailles, stopping short only of giving the purpose of my visit to Paris. I was sore ashamed of the indiscretion. When I looked I found him laughing silently to himself, laughing at me.
"Then you are Captain de Mouret?" he asked with purest Parisian intonation, and the courtesy of a gentleman.
"How do you know?" I attempted to be stern, but somehow my effort fell flat. "How do you know?"