“The great rebellion,” said Leighton.  “He means the last Houssa uprising.  Thirty thousand of ’em, and they fought and fell to a man.  The Government was glad of the chance to wipe ’em out.  Ask him how he escaped.”

“Escaped?” The black’s eyes gleamed.  “Child, I did not escape.  My master’s son was a babe in arms.  My master bade me bear him to safety.  When I came back, alone I bore my master to the grave.  Then it was too late.  They would not kill me.  Now the babe is grown.  He tells me I am a free man.  It is written on paper.”

While Leighton and Lewis watched the crowd, they themselves did not remain unnoticed.  A small group of the leisurely class began to block the pavement before them.  Father and son were a strange pair.  Lewis was still in his leather cow-boy clothes.  Alone, he would not have attracted more notice than a man with a beard and a carpet-bag on Broadway; but the juxtaposition of pith helmet, a thing unknown in those parts, and countryman’s flat leather hat, and the fact of their wearers usurping the seats of two black carriers was too much for one native son, dressed in the latest Paris fashion.

“Thou, porter,” he called to Leighton, “an errand for thee.  Go fetch my father.  He would not miss this sight.”

“What does he say?” asked Leighton.

Lewis blushed as people stopped and added their sparkling eyes to those of the crowd already gathered.

“He calls you a porter, and bids you fetch his father to see the sight.”

“Ask him,” said Leighton, calmly, “shall I know him who he thinks is his father by his horns?”

Lewis translated innocently enough.  The crowd gasped, and then roared with laughter.  The youth in Paris clothes turned purple with rage, shook his little cane at Leighton, and burst into abusive language.

“Why,” cried Lewis—­“why, what’s the matter with him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Leighton, pensively.  “And just now he was so dignified!”

A private sedan-chair, borne by four splendid blacks, swung by at a run.  As it passed, one of its silk curtains was drawn aside and the face of a woman, curious to see the reason of the crowd, looked out.  The face was clear white, blue-veined, red-lipped; under the black eyes were shadows.  A slight smile curved the red lips as the shadowy eyes fell upon Leighton and Lewis.

Leighton went tense, like a hound in leash.

“Look, boy!” he cried.  “A patrician passes!”

The lady heard, understood.  The smile, that was half-disdain, deepened.  She bowed slightly, but graciously.  The curtain fell.

“Come, boy,” said Leighton, “we can’t stand that.  Let’s go find a tailor.”

“Dad,” said Lewis, “do you know her?  She bowed.”

“She did, God bless her!” said Leighton.  “No, I don’t know her; but let’s think kindly of her, for she has added a charming memory to life.”

CHAPTER XV