As we lunched, Noah called for a messenger. “Find Mr. Rivera,” said Noah; “bring him to me here.” There was a question on my tongue; it covered the charge tossed over my shoulder by the man, Witherspoon, that Noah had fixed the country's status as a nation of heathen among the powers of the earth. “The statement is true,” said Noah; “the story is brief. It was during the last war, and while I represented the country in Tunis. A Yankee privateer, little but valiant, came into port towing a hulking English merchantman, whereof, cutlass in hand, he had made prize. The Yankee would have the merchantman condemned in the courts of Tunis, and sold. The British minister objected; he recalled the Bey, before whom we both appeared, to his treaty made with England. One clause precluded the use of Tunis as a port of condemnation for English ships made prize in wars between England and any other 'Christian nation.' The phrase was 'Christian nation.' There was no going about the treaty; it stood in ink and sheepskin. Whereupon I read the learned Bey--himself a darkened pagan--our constitution. I showed him we were not a 'Christian nation,' but admitted every creed or sect or sept or faith of men, Gentile or Jew or Musselman, and all on common terms. It was impossible we should be a 'Christian nation;' the treaty with England did not in this instance tie his hands. The Bey held with me; America was not a 'Christian nation;' the prize was condemned and sold. The Bey would receive one-fifth of the proceeds of that sale; which may or may not have aided his wisdom to the decision I've described. Still, it was a decision; and since it never has been quarreled with or overturned, a heathen country we remain to this day in the eye of international law.” As Noah ended his scrap of history, a tall young man, square and heavy of shoulders, and with every movement of his body as smoothly sure and sinuous as the movements of a cat, appeared. He was that Rivera for whom Noah had sent. “Go to my rooms and bring me a pair of swords,” said Noah. “The smallswords?” asked Rivera, with just a thought of interest. “No; the Spanish swords.” “Who is your armorer?” I asked of Noah when Rivera was gone. This boy I had come across before. He had drawn himself upon my attention by the panther grace and strength told of in his motions. Large, long of limb, and heavy, there was yet a brisk lightness with him to hold one like a spell.