"Is it that Governor Claiborne has heeded the Great Chief's warning?" he asked of his father. "The governor is an American," said Piff-Paff. "All Americans are perfidious. But the traitor of traitors is General An-drrew Jack-_son_. Be quiet, my son. Do you wish to die of fever?" "When I do get out," Marcel was saying to himself one sunny day early in December, "I will slay the traitor with my own hand." A steady tread came echoing down the corridor, and the Great Chief stepped into the court-yard. "M'sieu' Jean!" cried Piff-Paff, running to meet him. Lafitte pressed the old man's hands in his, and turned to Marcel. "Aha, my little game-cock, there you are!" he said, catching the boy in his arms. "My faith, but you paddled well for Louisiana that time we know of! And the arm? Is it all there?" A winning tenderness softened the fierce eyes. "But I am pressed for time, my friends," he continued, stepping back. As he spoke he unbuckled his belt, to which hung a short sword with jeweled cross-hilt. "Keep this lad, in memory of Lafitte--and the alligator," he laughed, handing sword and belt to Marcel, who stood open-mouthed, unable for sheer ecstasy to utter a word. "And look you, Marcel," his tones became grave, "I charge you henceforth to forget the road to Barataria. It leads to riches, yes, but it is a crooked and dishonest road. I would I had never myself set foot in such ways!" He paused a moment, his eyes bent on the ground." Learn your father's honest trade. Live by it, an honest man and a good citizen." "Yes, my captain," stammered Marcel. "Swear!" said Lafitte, imperiously. "I swear!" breathed Marcel, his hand on the cross-hilt of the sword. "By God's help!" "Amen!" said Lafitte, reverently. He turned away. "But where are you going, M'sieu' Jean?" cried Piff-Paff. "Do you not know that a reward of five hundred dollars is offered for your arrest?" "I know." Lafitte shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "I go to offer my services to General Jackson." _"Gen-e-ral Jackson!_" echoed Piff-Paff. His jaws dropped. He stood like one suddenly turned to stone while the chief's retreating footsteps rang down the alleyway. "General Jack-_son!_" he repeated, mechanically. "But he shall not!" With a roar of rage he leaped for the saber--his old saber which hung by the forge. "Myself, I will slay the traitor Jack-_son_ before M'sieu' Jean dishonors himself! I, Blaise Lefort, will save him." He dashed out. Marcel followed, buckling on his cross-hilted sword as he ran. "Nevertheless it is I who will destroy the traitor!" he muttered. "I have already said it." The narrow streets of the old town presented a unique spectacle. The tall dormer-window houses with their latticed balconies looked down upon hurrying crowds almost as motley as those of the carnival. But the faces of these men and women were earnest, grimly determined.