Part 9 (1/2)
”Oh no,” said the other with a shrug; ”that is too hard a name; say fortune-tellers. But Mr. Frowenfeld, I wish you to lend me your good offices. Just supposing the possi_bil_ity that that lady may be in need of money, you know, and will send back or come back for the purse, you know, knowing that she most likely lost it here, I ask you the favor that you will not let her know I have filled it with gold. In fact, if she mentions my name--”
”To confess the truth, sir, I am not acquainted with your name.”
The Creole smiled a genuine surprise.
”I thought you knew it.” He laughed a little at himself. ”We have nevertheless become very good friends--I believe? Well, in fact then, Mr. Frowenfeld, you might say you do not know who put the money in.” He extended his open palm with the purse hanging across it. Joseph was about to object to this statement, but the Creole, putting on an expression of anxious desire, said: ”I mean, not by name. It is somewhat important to me, Mr. Frowenfeld, that that lady should not know my present action. If you want to do those two ladies a favor, you may rest a.s.sured the way to do it is to say you do not know who put this gold.” The Creole in his earnestness slipped in his idiom. ”You will excuse me if I do not tell you my name; you can find it out at any time from Agricola. Ah! I am glad she did not see me! You must not tell anybody about this little event, eh?”
”No, sir,” said Joseph, as he finally accepted the purse. ”I shall say nothing to any one else, and only what I cannot avoid saying to the lady and her sister.”
”_'Tis not her sister_” responded the Creole, ”_'tis her daughter_.”
The italics signify, not how the words were said, but how they sounded to Joseph. As if a dark lantern were suddenly turned full upon it, he saw the significance of Citizen Fusilier's transport. The fair strangers were the widow and daughter of the man whom Agricola had killed in duel--the ladies with whom Doctor Keene had desired to make him acquainted.
”Well, good evening, Mr. Frowenfeld.” The Creole extended his hand (his people are great hand-shakers). ”Ah--” and then, for the first time, he came to the true object of his visit. ”The conversation we had some weeks ago, Mr. Frowenfeld, has started a train of thought in my mind”--he began to smile as if to convey the idea that Joseph would find the subject a trivial one--”which has almost brought me to the--”
A light footfall accompanied with the soft sweep of robes cut short his words. There had been two or three entrances and exits during the time the Creole had tarried, but he had not allowed them to disturb him. Now, however, he had no sooner turned and fixed his glance upon this last comer, than without so much as the invariable Creole leave-taking of ”Well, good evening, sir,” he hurried out.
CHAPTER XII
THE PHILOSOPHE
The apothecary felt an inward nervous start as there advanced into the light of his hanging lamp and toward the spot where he had halted, just outside the counter, a woman of the quadroon caste, of superb stature and poise, severely handsome features, clear, tawny skin and large, pa.s.sionate black eyes.
”_Bon soi', Miche_.” [Monsieur.] A rather hard, yet not repellent smile showed her faultless teeth.
Frowenfeld bowed.
”_Mo vien c'erc'er la bourse de Madame_.”
She spoke the best French at her command, but it was not understood.
The apothecary could only shake his head.
”_La bourse_” she repeated, softly smiling, but with a scintillation of the eyes in resentment of his scrutiny. ”_La bourse_” she reiterated.
”Purse?”
”_Oui, Miche_.”
”You are sent for it?”
”_Oui, Miche_.”
He drew it from his breast pocket and marked the sudden glisten of her eyes, reflecting the glisten of the gold in the silken mesh.
”_Oui, c'est ca_,” said she, putting her hand out eagerly.
”I am afraid to give you this to-night,” said Joseph.