Truth was, his reasons were unsatisfactory even to himself.
A sullen silence followed.

Then Charlie spoke: "Well, now, look here; I sell you old Charlie's house." "_Bien!_ and the whole block," said the Colonel.
"Hold on," said Charlie.

"I sell you de 'ouse and de block.

Den I go and git drunk, and go to sleep de dev' comes along and says, 'Charlie! old Charlie, you blame low-down old dog, wake up! What you doin' here?
Where's de 'ouse what Monsieur le Compte give your grace-gran-muzzer?
Don't you see dat fine gentyman, De Charleu, done gone and tore him down and make him over new, you blame old fool, Charlie, you low-down old Injin dog!'" "I'll give you forty thousand dollars," said the Colonel.
"For de 'ouse ?" "For all." The deaf man shook his head.
"Forty-five!" said the Colonel.
"What a lie?
For what you tell me 'What a lie ?' I don't tell you no lie." "_Non, non!_ I give you _forty-five!_" shouted the Colonel.
Charlie shook his head again.
"Fifty!" He shook it again.
The figures rose and rose to-- "Seventy-five!" The answer was an invitation to go away and let the owner alone, as he was, in certain specified respects, the vilest of living creatures, and no company for a fine gentyman.
The "fine gentyman" longed to blaspheme--but before old Charlie!--in the name of pride, how could he?
He mounted and started away.
"Tell you what I'll make wid you," said Charlie.
The other, guessing aright, turned back without dismounting, smiling.
"How much Belles Demoiselles hoes me now ?" asked the deaf one.
"One hundred and eighty thousand dollars," said the Colonel, firmly.
"Yass," said Charlie.

"I don't want Belle Demoiselles." The old Colonel's quiet laugh intimated it made no difference either way.
"But me," continued Charlie, "me,--I'm got le Compte De Charleu's blood in me, any'ow,--a litt' bit, any'ow, ain't it ?" The Colonel nodded that it was.
"_Bien!_ If I go out of dis place and don't go to Belles Demoiselles, de peoples will say,--dey will say, 'Old Charlie he been all doze time tell a blame _lie!_ He ain't no kin to his old grace-gran-muzzer, not a blame bit! He don't got nary drop of De Charleu blood to save his blame low-down old Injin soul!' No, sare! What I want wid money, den?
No, sare! My place for yours!" He turned to go into the house, just too soon to see the Colonel make an ugly whisk at him with his riding-whip.