Part 12 (1/2)
On it were, here and there in places, white mats woven of bleached palmetto-leaf. Such were the room's appointments; there was but one thing more, a singular bit of fantastic carving,--a small table of dark mahogany supported on the upward-writhing images of three scaly serpents.
Aurora sat down beside this table. A dwarf Congo woman, as black as soot, had ushered her in, and, having barred the door, had disappeared, and now the mistress of the house entered.
February though it was, she was dressed--and looked comfortable--in white. That barbaric beauty which had begun to bud twenty years before was now in perfect bloom. The united grace and pride of her movement was inspiring but--what shall we say?--feline? It was a femininity without humanity,--something that made her, with all her superbness, a creature that one would want to find chained. It was the woman who had received the gold from Frowenfeld--Palmyre Philosophe.
The moment her eyes fell upon Aurora her whole appearance changed. A girlish smile lighted up her face, and as Aurora rose up reflecting it back, they simultaneously clapped hands, laughed and advanced joyously toward each other, talking rapidly without regard to each other's words.
”Sit down,” said Palmyre, in the plantation French of their childhood, as they shook hands.
They took chairs and drew up face to face as close as they could come, then sighed and smiled a moment, and then looked grave and were silent.
For in the nature of things, and notwithstanding the amusing familiarity common between Creole ladies and the menial cla.s.s, the unprotected little widow should have had a very serious errand to bring her to the voudou's house.
”Palmyre,” began the lady, in a sad tone.
”Momselle Aurore.”
”I want you to help me.” The former mistress not only cast her hands into her lap, lifted her eyes supplicatingly and dropped them again, but actually locked her fingers to keep them from trembling.
”Momselle Aurore--” began Palmyre, solemnly.
”Now, I know what you are going to say--but it is of no use to say it; do this much for me this one time and then I will let voudou alone as much as you wish--forever!”
”You have not lost your purse _again?_”
”Ah! foolishness, no.”
Both laughed a little, the philosophe feebly, and Aurora with an excited tremor.
”Well?” demanded the quadroon, looking grave again.
Aurora did not answer.
”Do you wish me to work a spell for you?”
The widow nodded, with her eyes cast down.
Both sat quite still for some time; then the philosophe gently drew the landlord's letter from between Aurora's hands.
”What is this?” She could not read in any language.
”I must pay my rent within nineteen days.”
”Have you not paid it?”
The delinquent shook her head.
”Where is the gold that came into your purse? All gone?”
”For rice and potatoes,” said Aurora, and for the first time she uttered a genuine laugh, under that condition of mind which Latins usually subst.i.tute for fort.i.tude. Palmyre laughed too, very properly.