Carter laughed boisterously. "My dear, I never invested a picayune in my life," he said. She noticed the term of endearment and the fact of semi-intoxication, but she was not vexed nor alarmed by either. She was tolerably well accustomed to drunken gentlemen, and she was not easily hurt by love-making, no matter how vigorous. "You have always invested in the Bank of Love," she remarked with one of those amatory glances which black eyes, it seems to me, can make more effective than blue ones. "And in monte and faro, and bluff and euchre," he added, laughing loudly again. "In wine bills, and hotel bills, and tailors' bills, and all sorts of negatives." The debts which weighed somewhat heavily yesterday were mere comicalities and piquancies of life to-day. "Oh! you are a terrible personage. I fear you are not the protector I ought to choose." He made no reply, feeling vaguely that the conversation was growing dangerous, and sending back a thought to his wife like a cry for help. Mrs. Larue divined his alarm and changed the subject. "What makes you voyage north?" she asked with a knowing smile. "Are you in search of a new planet?" Through his plain whiskey the Colonel could not see her joke on the star which he was seeking, but he was still clever enough to shun the confession that he was on an expedition in search of promotion. "I am bearer of dispatches," he said. "Nothing to do now in Louisiana. I shall be back before any more fighting comes off." "Shall you? I am enchanted of it. I shall return soon, and hope to make the voyage with you. I am not going to forsake New Orleans. I love the city well enough--and more, I cannot sell my house. Remember, you must let me know when you return, and arrange yourself to come on my steamer."