Into the Governor’s courtyard, with its glistening flagstones, came men for a talk with the great Douglass: Antoine Dubuclet, State Treasurer, a quiet, dark man, who had lived many years in Paris; tall and cultured P. G. Deslone, Secretary of State; Paul Trevigne, who published the _New Orleans Tribune_. Trevigne was not on the best of terms with the Lieutenant-Governor. He bowed stiffly from the waist and hoped that the host would leave him and Douglass alone together. But Pinchback ordered coffee served beside the fountain, and over the thin, painted cup his eyes laughed. “M. Trevigne does not approve of me,” he explained, turning to Douglass. “He thinks I should take life more vigorously--by the throat. I use other methods.” Douglass, observing them, realized that here were two men of very different caliber. He marveled anew that Pinchback had been able to gain the confidence of the black people of New Orleans. “Undoubtedly, sir,” Trevigne was saying frankly, “I understand better the more direct methods of our first Lieutenant-Governor.” He turned to Douglass. “His name was Oscar Dunn, and he was the only one of the seven colored men in the Senate two years ago who had been a slave. He was by far the most able.” Pinchback had been in the Senate then. He studied the tray beside him and finally chose a heart-shaped pastry. He did not look up, but he said, “Oscar J. Dunn died--_very suddenly_.” His smile flashed. “I prefer to live.” Trevigne frowned. He continued almost as if the Governor had not spoken. “Oscar Dunn was responsible for opening public schools to blacks and poor whites alike.” Douglass roused himself with a start. He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry--but I’m going to be late. We must go. Let’s continue our visit on the way.” Trevigne welcomed the interruption. “I’ll send you over in the carriage. And do not worry,” Pinchback lifted himself from the easy chair with languid grace. “The session will not begin on time.” But the session of the convention had begun when Douglass reached the hall. The efficient secretary was calling the roll. The convention was not going very well. Division in the Republican ranks grew deeper and broader every day. Douglass blamed Charles Sumner and Horace Greeley who “on account of their long and earnest advocacy of justice and liberty to the blacks, had powerful attractions for the newly-enfranchised class.” He ignored the persistent influence of the National Labor Union and its economic struggle. Douglass pointed to what the Republican party had done in Louisiana--to the legislators he had met. Six years later he was to hear all of them labeled “apes,” “buffoons,” and “clowns.” He was to see the schools Dunn had labored so hard to erect burned to the ground; the painstaking, neat accounts of Dubuclet blotted and falsified; the studied, skilful tacts of Pinchback labeled “mongrel trickery.” There were those in New Orleans who saw it coming.