Sea and Shore | Page 9

aspect.

Above her head in its wicker cage swung the gray and crimson parrot,
of which Sylphy had spoken, and to which, it may be remembered, she
had so irreverently likened her master on one occasion; bursting forth,
as it saw us coming, into a shrill, stereotyped phrase of
welcome--"_Bien venu, compatriote_," that was irresistibly ludicrous
and irrelevant.
"Tremble, France! we come--we come," said Major Favraud; "there's
your quotation well applied this time, Miss Harz! It is impressive, after
all."
"Hush! she will hear you," I remonstrated, quite awed in that still,
majestic presence, for now we stood before our aged hostess, who, with
a cold but stately politeness after Major Favraud's salutation and
introduction, waved us in and across her threshold. As for Major
Favraud, he had turned to leave us on the door-sill, to see to the
comfort and safety of his horses; not liking, perhaps, the appearance of
the superannuated ostler, who lounged near the stable of the inn, if such
might be called this rustic retreat without sign, lodging, or bar-rooms.
"Are we in the mansion of a decayed queen, or the log-hut of a wayside
innkeeper?" I questioned low of Marion.
"Both in one, it seems to me," was the reply. "But Madame Grambeau
is no curiosity, no novelty to me, I have stopped here so frequently. I
ought to have told you, before we came, not to be surprised."
Pausing at the door of a large, square room, from which voices
proceeded, she invited us with a singularly graceful though formal
courtesy to enter, smiling and pointing forward silently as she did so,
and then, like Major Favraud, she turned and abandoned us at the
door-sill, on which we stood riveted for a moment by the sound of a
vibrant and eager voice speaking some never-to-be-forgotten words.
"For the slave is the coral-insect of the South," said the voice within;
"insignificant in himself, he rears a giant structure--which will yet
cause the wreck of the ship of state, should its keel grate too closely on
that adamantine wall. '_L'état c'est moi_,' said Louis XIV., and that
'slavery is the South' is as true an utterance. Our staple--our patriarchal
institution--our prosperity--are one and indissoluble, and the sooner the
issue comes the better for the nation!"
Standing with his hand on the back of a chair near the
casement-window of the large, low apartment, in close conversation

with two other gentlemen, was the speaker of these remarkable words,
which embraced the whole genius and policy of the South as it then
existed, and which were delivered in those clear and perfectly
modulated tones that bespeak the practised orator and the man of
dominant energies.
I felt instinctively that I stood in the presence of one of the anointed
princes of the earth--felt it, and was thrilled.
"Do you know that gentleman, Marion?" I whispered, as we seated
ourselves on the old-fashioned settle, or rather sofa, in one corner of the
room, gazing admiringly, as I spoke, on the tall, slight figure, with its
air of power and poise, that stood at some distance, with averted face.
"No, I have no idea who it is, or who are his companions either," she
replied; "unless"--hesitating with scrutiny in her eyes--
"His companions, I do not care to question of them!--but that man
himself--the speaker--has a sovereign presence! Can it be possible--"
The entrance of Major Favraud interrupted further conjecture, for at the
sound of those emphatic boots the stranger turned, and for one moment
the splendor of his large dark eyes, in their iron framing, met my own,
then passed recognizingly on to rest on the face of Major Favraud, and
advancing with extended hands, made more cordial by his voice and
smile, he greeted him familiarly as "Victor."
Major Favraud stood for a moment spell-bound--then suddenly rushing
forward, flung his hat to the floor, caught the hand of the stranger
between his own and pressed it to his heart. (To his lips, I think, he
would fain have lifted it, falling on one knee, perchance, at the same
time in a knightly fashion of hero-worship that modern reticence
forbids.) But he contented himself with exclaiming:
"Mr. Calhoun! best of friends, welcome back to Georgia!" And tears
started to his eyes and choked his utterance. Thus was my conjecture
confirmed. I never felt so thrilled, so elated, by any presence.
There was a momentary pause after this fervent greeting, emotional on
one part only.
"But why did you not meet me at Milledgeville?" asked Mr. Calhoun.
"Most of my friends in this vicinity sustained me there. I have been
discussing the great question[2] again, Favraud, and I should have been
glad of your countenance."
"I have been detained at home of late by a cruel necessity," was the

faltering reply, "or