"Oh, yas. 'Tis true. Over a hundred t'ousand dollars he has already put in--an' as much more ready to drop. _Mais_ it is _fairyland_! An' me, _I_ was t'inking too--sometimes I t'ink a little myself--I was t'inking dat if--I say _if_ sometime his daughter would be de Comus Queen, not insinuating anything, you know--no allusion to de bird--w'at a fine house-party dey could have _now_, eh? Dey could invite de royal party, maids of honor, and so fort'--whoever is rich enough to lose so much time-- "T'ink of sailing up de new canal on de barge--" "An' under de bridge--" "No, not de bridge. He will never touch dat. He has made a new plan, entering another way. Dat span of de bridge he commenced--it is standing beside de beautiful w'ite marble tomb--to hold his family. His wife she is dere, an' de ol' negroes w'at care for his chil'--dey are laying in one corner, wid also a small monument." "Are you _sure_ dey are dere?" "I have seen de monument, I tell you." "Well, Harold he was always sentimental, if you will. I suppose dat broken bridge is, as he says--it is history, and he needs to keep it before him, not to be too rash. Maybe so. Who can tell? Two boys in de war, it was enough--if he had stopped to t'ink." "Yas--_mais_ de barge, de Cleopatra; dey say she is be'-u-tiful!" "Cleopatra! For w'at he di'n' name her somet'ing sensible?" "Dat is not only sensible--it is diplomatic. You know, w'en a man has only a daughter and a step-wife--_w'at_ is de matter wid me to-night? You understand me. I say, in--well, in some cases, to _dis_criminate, it is enough to drive a man to--" "Oh, don't say dat, Felix." "Let me _finish_, will you? I say it is one of dose _in_delicate situations dat drive a man to _dodge_! An' w'en he can dodge into history and romance at once, so much de better! An' _Cleopatra_, it sound well for a barge. An' so, really, _if_ de beautiful daughter _should_ be de queen an' dey could arrange one house-party--" "Suppose, Felix, ol' man, you would bring out yo' magnolia-tree once more, you don't t'ink de li'l' bird would come again an' stan' on one limb an' may_be_--" "Ah, no. I am sure not. If dey had a grain of salt in dat story, I would try. I would put it on his tail. _Mais_, how can you catch a bird widout salt?" * * * * * So idly, playfully, the talk rippled on, ever insensibly flavored with rich romance of life, even as the fitful breeze skirting the shores held, in shy suspension, an occasional hint of orange-blossoms or of the Cuban fruits which, heaping the luggers in the slanting sun, laid their gay bouquets of color against the river's breast. It is many years since the maid Agnes Le Duc, on her way to coronation at the carnival, stood while the sun went down in all her vestal beauty on deck of the _Laurel Hill_, and smiled through tears of tenderness at life as half revealed to her. Many things are changed since then, and yet the great river flows on, all unheeding.