He brought with him a letter of goodly size and appearance.
"From Prince Lucien!" cried Francois, who was sure to have the first word in everything.

"It is from the Prince, papa; I know the seal." "Quiet, Francois! quiet!" said his father, reprovingly; at the same time hobbling into the verandah, and calling for his spectacles.
The letter was soon opened, and perused.
"Hugot!" cried the Colonel, after he had finished reading it.
Hugot made no reply, but threw himself in front of his master, with his hand raised to his eyebrows _a la militaire_.
"Hugot, you must go to Saint Louis." "_Bien, mon Colonel_!" "You must start by the first boat." "_Tres-bien, mon Colonel_!" "You must procure for me the skin of a _white buffalo_." "That will not be difficult, monsieur." "More difficult than you imagine, I fear." "With money, monsieur ?" "Ay, even with money, Hugot.

Look you! It is a _skin_ I want--not a robe--but a perfect skin with the head, feet, and all complete, and fit for stuffing." "Ah! mon Colonel! that is different." "Ah! you may say so.

I fear it will be difficult, indeed," soliloquised the Colonel, with a thoughtful air.

"I very much doubt whether we can get it at all; but it must be had, cost _what it may_--ay, _cost what it may_." "I will do my best, Colonel." "Try at every fur-store in Saint Louis,--inquire among the hunters and trappers--you know where to find them.