human
I was yonder at Toulouse Street, said Ovide Landry,
gpt
Does it show exactly where Maspero's Exchange stood?
human
I will, to-day; at six. Another man came up,
gpt
Ah, Mr. Castanado! How--how is your patient?
human
Madame --the costumer smiled happily--
gpt
No, I--oh! going, Landry? Good day. No, Mr. Castanado, I----
human
Madame hopes Mr. Chezter can at last, this evening, come at home for that reading.
gpt
Mr. Castanado, I can't! I'm mighty sorry! My whole evening's engaged. So is to-morrow's. May I come the next evening after? . . . Thank you. . . . Yes, at seven. Just the three of us, of course? Yes.
human
You can't write a Southern book and keep us out,
gpt
Have you that book that tells of you--as a slave? your master letting you educate yourself; your once refusing your freedom, and your being private secretary to two or three black lieutenant-governors?
human
I had a copy, Landry said,
gpt
Yes. An antique himself, in spirit, eh? Yet modern enough to praise you highly.
human
H'mm! but only for the virtues of a slave.
gpt
I noticed that! I'm afraid we white folks, the world over, are prone to do that--with you-all.
human
Yes, when you speak of us at all.
gpt
Ducatel's opposite neighbor, Chester remarked,
human
Ah, yes! Castanado is antique only in that art spirit which the tourist trade is every day killing even in Royal Street.
gpt
That's the worst decay in this whole decaying quarter,
human
And in all this deluge of trade spirit, Ovide continued,
gpt
Castanado's shop, I dare say.
human
Castanado's and three others in that one square you pass every day without discovering the fact. But that's natural; you are a busy lawyer.
gpt
Not so very. What are the other three?
human
First, the shop of Seraphine Alexandre, embroideries; then of Scipion Beloiseau, ornamental ironwork, opposite Mme. Seraphine and next below Ducatel--Ducatel, alas, he don't count; and third, of Placide La Porte, perfumeries, next to Beloiseau. That's all.
gpt
Not the watchmaker on the square above?
human
Ah! distantly he's of them: and there _was_ old Manouvrier, taxidermist; but he's gone--where the spirits of art and of worship are twin.