CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
"AURORE."
I was for the moment alone, Scipio having betaken himself to the kitchenin search of the tea, toast, and chicken "fixings." I lay reflectingupon the interview just ended, and especially upon the conversationbetween the doctor and Gayarre, in which had occurred several pointsthat suggested singular ideas. The conduct of the doctor was naturalenough, indeed betokened the true gentleman; but for the other there wasa sinister design--I could not doubt it.
Why the desire--an anxiety, in fact--to have me removed to the hotel?Evidently there was some strong motive, since he proposed to pay theexpenses; for from my slight knowledge of the man I knew him to be thevery opposite to generous!
"What can be his motive for my removal?" I asked myself.
"Ha! I have it--I have the explanation! I see through his designsclearly! This fox, this cunning _avocat_, this guardian, is no doubt inlove with his own ward! She is young, rich, beautiful, a belle, and heold, ugly, mean, and contemptible; but what of that? He does not thinkhimself either one or the other; and she--bah!--he may even hope: farless reasonable hopes have been crowned with success. He knows theworld; he is a lawyer; he knows at least her world. He is hersolicitor; holds her affairs entirely in his hands; he is guardian,executor, agent--all; has perfect and complete control. With suchadvantages, what can he not effect? All that he may desire--hermarriage, or her ruin. Poor lady! I pity her!"
Strange to say, it was only _pity_. That it was not another feeling wasa mystery I could not comprehend.
The entrance of Scipio interrupted my reflections. A young girlassisted him with the plates and dishes. This was "Chloe," hisdaughter, a child of thirteen, or thereabouts, but not black like thefather! She was a "yellow girl," with rather handsome features. Scipioexplained this. The mother of his "leettle Chlo," as he called her, wasa mulatta, and "`Chlo' hab taken arter de ole 'oman. Hya! hya!"
The tone of Scipio's laugh showed that he was more than satisfied--proud, in fact--of being the father of so light-skinned and pretty alittle creature as Chloe!
Chloe, like all her kind, was brimful of curiosity, and in rolling aboutthe whites of her eyes to get a peep at the buckra stranger who hadsaved her mistress' life, she came near breaking cups, plates, anddishes; for which negligence Scipio would have boxed her ears, but formy intercession. The odd expressions and gestures, the novel behaviourof both father and daughter, the peculiarity of this slave-life,interested me.
I had a keen appetite, notwithstanding my weakness. I had eaten nothingon the boat; in the excitement of the race, supper had been forgotten bymost of the passengers, myself among the number. Scipio's preparationsnow put my palate in tune, and I did ample justice to the skill ofChloe's mother, who, as Scipio informed me, was "de boss in de kitchen."The tea strengthened me; the chicken, delicately fricasseed andgarnished upon rice, seemed to refill my veins with fresh blood. Withthe exception of the slight pain of my wound, I already felt quiterestored.
My attendants removed the breakfast things, and after a while Scipioreturned to remain in the room with me, for such were his orders.
"And now, Scipio," I said, as soon as we were alone, "tell me ofAurore!"
"'Rore, mass'r!"
"Yes--Who is Aurore?"
"Poor slave, mass'r; jes like Ole Zip heamseff."
The vague interest I had begun to feel in "Aurore" vanished at once.
"A slave!" repeated I, involuntarily, and in a tone of disappointment.
"She Missa 'Genie's maid," continued Scipio; "dress missa's hair--waiton her--sit wi' her--read to her--do ebbery ting--"
"Read to her! what!--a slave?"
My interest in Aurore began to return.
"Ye, mass'r--daat do 'Rore. But I 'splain to you. Ole Mass'r 'Sanconberry good to de coloured people--teach many ob um read debooks--'specially 'Rore. 'Rore he 'struckt read, write, many, manytings, and young Missa 'Genie she teach her de music. 'Rore she'complish gal--berry 'complish gal. Know many ting; jes like de whitefolks. Plays on de peany--plays on de guitar--guitar jes like banjo, anOle Zip play on daat heamseff--he do. Wugh!"
"And withal, Aurore is a poor slave just like the rest of you, Scipio?"
"Oh! no, mass'r; she be berry different from de rest. She lib differentlife from de other nigga--she no hard work--she berry vallyble--shefetch two thousand dollar!"
"Fetch two thousand dollars!"
"Ye, mass'r, ebbery cent--ebbery cent ob daat."
"How know you?"
"'Case daat much war bid for her. Mass'r Marigny want buy 'Rore, anMass'r Crozat, and de American Colonel on de oder side ob ribber--deyall bid two thousand dollar--ole mass'r he only larf at um, and say hewon't sell de gal for no money."
"This was in old master's time?"
"Ye--ye--but one bid since--one boss ob ribber-boat--he say he want'Rore for de lady cabin. He talk rough to her. Missa she angry--tell'im go. Mass'r Toney he angry, tell 'im go; and de boat captain he goangry like de rest. Hya! hya! hya!"
"And why should Aurore command such a price?"
"Oh! she berry good gal--berry good gal--but--"
Scipio hesitated a moment--"but--"
"Well?"
"I don't b'lieve, mass'r, daat's de reason."
"What, then?"
"Why, mass'r, to tell de troof, I b'lieve dar all bad men daat wanted tobuy de gal."
Delicately as it was conveyed, I understood the insinuation.
"Ho! Aurore must be beautiful, then? Is it so, friend Scipio?"
"Mass'r, 'taint for dis ole nigger to judge 'bout daat; but folks deysay--bof white folks an black folks--daat she am de best-lookin' anhansomest quaderoom in all Loozyanna."
"Ha! a _quadroon_?"
"Daat are a fact, mass'r, daat same--she be a gal ob colour--nebbermind--she white as young missa herseff. Missa larf and say so many,many time, but fr'all daat dar am great difference--one rich lady--t'other poor slave--jes like Ole Zip--ay, jes like Ole Zip--buy 'em,sell 'em, all de same."
"Could you describe Aurore, Scipio?"
It was not idle curiosity that prompted me to put this question. Astronger motive impelled me. The dream-face still haunted me--thosefeatures of strange type--its strangely-beautiful expression, notCaucasian, not Indian, not Asiatic. Was it possible--probable--
"Could you describe her, Scipio?" I repeated.
"'Scribe her, mass'r; daat what you mean? ye--yes."
I had no hope of a very lucid painting, but perhaps a few "points" wouldserve to identify the likeness of my vision. In my mind the portraitwas as plainly drawn as if the real face were before my eyes. I shouldeasily tell if Aurore and my dream were one. I began to think it was nodream, but a reality.
"Well, mass'r, some folks says she am proud, case de common niggers envyob her--daat's de troof. She nebber proud to Ole Zip, daat I knows--shetalk to 'im, an tell 'im many tings--she help teach Ole Zip read, and deole Chloe, and de leettle Chloe, an she--"
"It is a description of her person I ask for, Scipio."
"Oh! a 'scription ob her person--ye--daat is, what am she like?"
"So. What sort of hair, for instance? What colour is it?"
"Brack, mass'r; brack as a boot."
"Is it straight hair?"
"No, mass'r--ob course not--Aurore am a quaderoom."
"It curls?"
"Well, not dzactly like this hyar;" here Scipio pointed to his own kinkyhead-covering; "but for all daat, mass'r, it curls--what folks call dewave."
"I understand; it falls down to her shoulders?"
"Daat it do, mass'r, down to de berry small ob her back."
"Luxuriant?"
"What am dat, mass'r?"
"Thick--bushy."
"Golly! it am as bushy as de ole coon's tail."
"Now the eyes?"
Scipio's description of the quadroon's eyes was rather a confused one.He was happy in a simile, however, which I felt satisfied with: "Dey ambig an round--dey shin
e like de eyes of a deer." The nose puzzled him,but after some elaborate questioning, I could make out that it wasstraight and small. The eyebrows--the teeth--the complexion--were allfaithfully pictured--that of the cheeks by a simile, "like de red ob aGeorgium peach."
Comic as was the description given, I had no inclination to be amusedwith it. I was too much interested in the result, and listened to everydetail with an anxiety I could not account for.
The portrait was finished at length, and I felt certain it must be thatof the lovely apparition. When Scipio had ended speaking, I lay upon mycouch burning with an intense desire to see this fair--this pricelessquadroon. Just then a bell rang from the house.
"Scipio wanted, mass'r--daat him bell--be back, 'gain in a minute,mass'r."
So saying, the negro left me, and ran towards the house.
I lay reflecting on the singular--somewhat romantic--situation in whichcircumstances had suddenly placed me. But yesterday--but the nightbefore--a traveller, without a dollar in my purse, and not knowing whatroof would next shelter me--to-day the guest of a lady, young, rich,unmarried--the invalid guest--laid up for an indefinite period; wellcared for and well attended.
These thoughts soon gave way to others. The dream-face drove them outof my mind, and I found myself comparing it with Scipio's picture of thequadroon. The more I did so, the more I was struck with theircorrespondence. How could I have dreamt a thing so palpable? Scarceprobable. Surely I must have seen it? Why not? Forms and faces werearound me when I fainted and was carried in; why not hers among therest? This was, indeed, probable, and would explain all. But was sheamong them? I should ask Scipio on his return.
The long conversation I had held with my attendant had wearied me, weakand exhausted as I was. The bright sun shining across my chamber didnot prevent me from feeling drowsy; and after a few minutes I sank backupon my pillow, and fell asleep.