"Back to that so-called railroad, at Le Boeuf station," I informed him, conscious of a rising distaste for his continued use of the French mode of address.
"That is fortunate," nodded Lafitte, "for I am bound in the same general direction, and I shall be more than pleased to guide Monsieur to Le Boeuf."
There it was again, and my rather childish irritation gave vent to expression as I reminded him. a trifle shortly,
"You've sold me enough groceries as Mister Stuart to be able to get along without all that 'Monsieur' foolishness, haven't you, Lafitte?"
I was immediately ashamed of the outburst, for which there was little enough real reason, but consoled myself with the reflection that the damned nigger—even if he was almost white—was a bit too fond of histrionics.
None the less, my rebuke produced a dangerous gleam in Lafitte's deep eyes, and he stiffened ominously. The appearance of swiftly mounting wrath gave way, however, to an almost immediate expression of quizzical surprize, and what appeared to be sudden and amused comprehension. I confess to a distinct relief at seeing the blaze die out of those brilliant eyes, for the momentary flash, brief as it was, had given me a glimpse of something potentially dangerous in their depths. I repeat, therefore, that I experienced a relief even disproportionate to the incident when Lafitte lifted his shoulders in their habitual gesture and smiled, amusedly—a little contemptuously, I have since believed.
"So," he queried, "you buy groceries from one Jean Lafitte, in New Orleans, and, because you consider him a very commonplace person, object that I—he—finds it natural, so close to Barataria Bay, to speak in the fashion of that—that other—Jean Lafitte?"
I answered him with his own trick, by shrugging my shoulders, whereat he faintly smiled again, and nodded.
"Please pardon my unwitting offense, Mr. Stuart. One will surely be safe in asserting that Jean Lafitte—the grocer—highly values your good will."
I was strongly suspicious that the rascal found something in his last statement to furnish him secret amusement; but I could not be sure, so offered no comment beyond a non-committal grunt.
The fact was that Lafitte impressed me in a curious and vaguely disquieting manner. I was at a loss to account for the indefinable antipathy his presence inspired in me; for even in Barataria, and despite what I then considered his theatrical manner, I refused to regard him as other than a moderately prosperous grocer—and a not-quite-white grocer, at that.
We trudged on in silence for a while, Lafitte setting a course almost at right angles to the direction I had been following. Finally, partly as a relief to the monotonous lack of conversation, which my guide seemed indifferently disposed to remedy, and partly to shake off the unreasonable disquiet which I experienced in his proximity, I hazarded a remark.
"I did not know you were in the habit of taking holidays in the Barataria country, Lafitte," I said.
"Nor am I," was his grave reply. "I have not had a holiday, in Barataria or elsewhere, in more years than you would be likely to credit, should I tell you just how many."
"Does one flounder through these swamps on business, then?" I asked, with a short laugh. At the same time, I noticed a fact that had previously escaped my definite attention:
