Part 12 (2/2)
Another silence followed. The lady could not return the quadroon's searching gaze.
”Momselle Aurore,” suddenly said Palmyre, ”you want me to work a spell for something else.”
Aurora started, looked up for an instant in a frightened way, and then dropped her eyes and let her head droop, murmuring:
”No, I do not.”
Palmyre fixed a long look upon her former mistress. She saw that though Aurora might be distressed about the rent, there was something else,--a deeper feeling,--impelling her upon a course the very thought of which drove the color from her lips and made her tremble.
”You are wearing red,” said the philosophe.
Aurora's hand went nervously to the red ribbon about her neck.
”It is an accident; I had nothing else convenient.”
”Miche Agoussou loves red,” persisted Palmyre. (Monsieur Agoussou is the demon upon whom the voudous call in matters of love.)
The color that came into Aurora's cheek ought to have suited Monsieur precisely.
”It is an accident,” she feebly insisted.
”Well,” presently said Palmyre, with a pretence of abandoning her impression, ”then you want me to work you a spell for money, do you?”
Aurora nodded, while she still avoided the quadroon's glance.
”I know better,” thought the philosophe. ”You shall have the sort you want.”
The widow stole an upward glance.
”Oh!” said Palmyre, with the manner of one making a decided digression, ”I have been wanting to ask you something. That evening at the pharmacy--was there a tall, handsome gentleman standing by the counter?”
”He was standing on the other side.”
”Did you see his face?”
”No; his back was turned.”
”Momselle Aurore,” said Palmyre, dropping her elbows upon her knees and taking the lady's hand as if the better to secure the truth, ”was that the gentleman you met at the ball?”
”My faith!” said Aurora, stretching her eyebrows upward. ”I did not think to look. Who was it?”
But Palmyre Philosophe was not going to give more than she got, even to her old-time Momselle; she merely straightened back into her chair with an amiable face.
”Who do you think he is?” persisted Aurora, after a pause, smiling downward and toying with her rings.
The quadroon shrugged.
They both sat in reverie for a moment--a long moment for such sprightly natures--and Palmyre's mien took on a professional gravity. She presently pushed the landlord's letter under the lady's hands as they lay clasped in her lap, and a moment after drew Aurora's glance with her large, strong eyes and asked:
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