"Magnificent."

"And, be you a stranger in the city?" she now asked.

"Yes."

"And from where do you come?"

"The great northwest. Dakota."

"Ah, Dakota--m-m. That is far, far away?"

"Yes; far, far away."

"I have never been there. I have never been anywhere, but have always lived here in Bienville Parish. I was born here, a creole."

They now walked down the wide hall, and where he gazed into the deserted rooms on either side, all of which revealed a once great splendor.

"Here," she said, "is a room that once played a conspicuous part in the old south." She led him then into a large room, much larger than any other in the building. It was a round room, and he could see that it had been made to be used for convention purposes. She was explaining.

"It was once used as a temporary capitol, and later as a rendezvous for secessionists. And still later, after the war, Sheridan made a raid, and arrested many conspirators."

"I suppose," said Sidney, "that this place has seen many grand occasions?"

"Ah, indeed it has. All the aristocrats of the southland always stopped here, as well as counts and dukes and lords and great ladies, and still from South America and Mexico the best people stopped here."

They pa.s.sed out of the room, across the hallway, and entered another room that was furnished. "I live here," said the woman, to his surprise.

"Here--alone?"

She nodded. "Yes, alone for many years."

He understood now, and, running his hands into his pockets, he pulled forth a half dollar, and handed it to her. She accepted it with many thanks, and gave him then, some pictures and relics.

"I suppose you have many visitors--tourists?" he inquired, starting toward the door.

"Well, no, I do not," she said, somewhat regretfully. "The people do not seem to wander down into this section. They do not appear curious for relics, as they used to be."

"That's too bad--for you," he said kindly.

"It is, since I am old, and have no other way of getting my living," and she sighed.

"How old are you?"

"Eighty-nine."

"And you have no--no children?" he asked now, with curious interest.

"None. And that--and that, perhaps, is why I'm like I am today...."

Wyeth listened kindly, patiently. The other appeared sad and reminiscent.

"No, I shall never seem to get over it, either. I am the last of a family that came here from France, many, many years ago--two hundred, to be exact. For many years, we were the richest family in Bienville Parish, and perhaps almost as rich as any other in the state. We owned land, and slaves, until we could hardly count them. Of course, the war meant--you can understand what we lost with the freedom of the blacks.

But after that, we were still immensely rich. But, somehow, a curse seemed to come over the family. No boy babies were born to any. The girls became subject to consumption, until all had died but myself. Then I married. My husband was Spanish and French, very affectionate, and was good to me, and we were hopeful and happy--until I bore him no offspring. He grew crabbed, nervous and impatient.

"Before long, I came to see that he was intimate elsewhere. He began to drink, to gamble, and to carouse. He stayed out until all hours of the night, and then he got so he would not come home at all. For days I would not see him, and then for weeks." She paused long enough now to wipe a tear. "I began to fear for him, for, I recalled that his ancestors had come to abrupt ends, and I worried. Because I could bear him no children, I gave him freely of the fortune that was left to me.

He ran through with his, and then with mine." She was weeping quietly now, and he felt inclined to comfort her, but did not know how.

After a time she was calm again. She took a seat by the window, and gazed with a tired expression out into the street, while he waited.

"Well," she resumed, "they brought him home one day, dead, and I have been alone since."

"Too bad," said Wyeth, and shifted about, listening for more, for, carefully observant, he saw that she was not through.

"One day, there came a woman, an attractive colored woman, with large eyes and the most beautiful hair and skin and form I had ever, I think, seen. She led a little boy by the hand, and when he looked up at me, I screamed. I knew then, and didn't have to be told, that he was my husband's son.

"Strangely, I was happy. To know that my good husband--for he had been good in the beginning--had left his name, somewhat cheered me, and we agreed to educate and give him a chance.

"We placed him later, at my expense, in a good school, and he grew to be a handsome, bright-eyed young man. I watched him, however, with a slight fear--for I remembered. But he made a man of himself, a successful man, and with the last few thousands I could gather, I helped to start him in business, and in due time he had made a name that was an envy. He became the owner of much of the best property in the city, land in the northern part of the state, and, in the end, married one of the wealthiest and most attractive girls in the town." She paused again, and Wyeth listened without a word. Something remained yet to be told....

The woman was speaking again.

"Yes, he grew to success and happiness--and then, well, something happened."

"Something happened?" Wyeth echoed.

"Yes. Something happened." She was silent now, and gazed again out of the window.

"Heredity."

"Heredity?" And still he did not understand. He could not be patient longer. "Who was this man--that is, ah--what was his name. I don't think I ever heard of him--a colored man?"

She looked straight at him now, without a change of expression, and answered: "He was not colored!"

"Not colored?"

"I should have said," she corrected, "that he didn't go as colored....

He _pa.s.sed_ for white."

"Oh...."

"But that was not it--heredity."

Wyeth said nothing.

"He ran around. He took up drink--and then he wanted--colored women."

After this, both were silent for a long time; but Wyeth was thinking. He was hearing over again what he had heard before--many times. "_Colored women!_" In Dixie, he felt that if he could keep his ears deaf to hearing of white men--and those who "pa.s.sed" for white--wanting--and having--colored women, he could, he possibly might like the country; but everywhere he had heard this. The woman broke the silence.

"This city is possessed with that desire. Have you observed it--everywhere you might chance to look, you will see it?"