“From the sound of her ’scape, of course. I can distinguish the boat. She is the ‘Buck-eye’—mail-boat for Cincinnati.”
In a short time the white cloud of steam was seen ascending over the trees; and then the huge vessel came “bulging” around a bend of the river, cleaving the brown current as she went. She was soon opposite the lawn; and, sure enough, proved to be what Lucien had said she was—the mail-steamer “Buck-eye.” This was a triumph for Lucien, although he bore it with characteristic modesty.
The boat had not passed many minutes, when the loud screeching of her steam was heard in the direction of Point Coupée. They could tell from this that she was putting in at the landing.
“Hugot!” cried the Colonel, “their may be something for us. Go and see.”
Without waiting for further orders, Hugot started on his errand. He was a brisk walker, Hugot; and was back again in a trice. He brought with him a letter of goodly size and appearance.
“From Prince Lucien!” cried François, who was sure to have the first word in everything. “It is from the Prince, papa; I know the seal.”
“Quiet, François! quiet!” said his father, reprovingly; at the same time hobbling into the verandah, and calling for his spectacles.
The letter was soon opened, and perused.
“Hugot!” cried the Colonel, after he had finished reading it.
Hugot made no reply, but threw himself in front of his master, with his hand raised to his eyebrows à la militaire.