Part 34 (1/2)

”But he declines to dress himself--has painted himself all rings and stripes, antelope fas.h.i.+on.”

”Tell him Agricola Fusilier says, 'dress immediately!'”

”Oh, Miche, we have said that five times already, and his answer--you will pardon me--his answer is--spitting on the ground--that you are a contemptible _dotchian_ (white trash).”

There is nothing to do but privily to call the very bride--the lady herself. She comes forth in all her glory, small, but oh, so beautiful!

Slam! Bras-Coupe is upon his face, his finger-tips touching the tips of her snowy slippers. She gently bids him go and dress, and at once he goes.

Ah! now the question may be answered without whispering. There is Bras-Coupe, towering above all heads, in ridiculous red and blue regimentals, but with a look of savage dignity upon him that keeps every one from laughing. The murmur of admiration that pa.s.sed along the thronged gallery leaped up into a shout in the bosom of Palmyre. Oh, Bras-Coupe--heroic soul! She would not falter. She would let the silly priest say his say--then her cunning should help her _not to be_ his wife, yet to show his mighty arm how and when to strike.

”He is looking for Palmyre,” said some, and at that moment he saw her.

”Ho-o-o-o-o!”

Agricola's best roar was a penny trumpet to Bras-Coupe's note of joy.

The whole masculine half of the indoor company flocked out to see what the matter was. Bras-Coupe was taking her hand in one of his and laying his other upon her head; and as some one made an unnecessary gesture for silence, he sang, beating slow and solemn time with his naked foot and with the hand that dropped hers to smite his breast:

”'_En haut la montagne, zami, Mo pe coupe canne, zami, Pou' fe l'a'zen' zami, Pou' mo baille Palmyre.

Ah! Palmyre, Palmyre mo c'ere, Mo l'aime 'ou'--mo l'aime 'ou'_.'”

”_Montagne?_” asked one slave of another, ”_qui est ca, montagne? gnia pas quic 'ose comme ca dans la Louisiana?_ (What's a mountain?” We haven't such things in Louisiana.)”

”_Mein ye gagnein plein montagnes dans l'Afrique_, listen!”

”'_Ah! Palmyre, Palmyre, mo' piti zozo,'

Mo l'aime 'ou'--mo l'aime, l'aime 'ou'_.'”

”Bravissimo!--” but just then a counter-attraction drew the white company back into the house. An old French priest with sandalled feet and a dirty face had arrived. There was a moment of handshaking with the good father, then a moment of palpitation and holding of the breath, and then--you would have known it by the turning away of two or three feminine heads in tears--the lily hand became the don's, to have and to hold, by authority of the Church and the Spanish king. And all was merry, save that outside there was coming up as villanous a night as ever cast black looks in through snug windows.

It was just as the newly-wed Spaniard, with Agricola and all the guests, were concluding the byplay of marrying the darker couple, that the hurricane struck the dwelling. The holy and jovial father had made faint pretence of kissing this second bride; the ladies, colonels, dons, etc.,--though the joke struck them as a trifle coa.r.s.e--were beginning to laugh and clap hands again and the gowned jester to bow to right and left, when Bras-Coupe, tardily realizing the consummation of his hopes, stepped forward to embrace his wife.

”Bras-Coupe!”

The voice was that of Palmyre's mistress. She had not been able to comprehend her maid's behavior, but now Palmyre had darted upon her an appealing look.

The warrior stopped as if a javelin had flashed over his head and stuck in the wall.

”Bras-Coupe must wait till I give him his wife.”

He sank, with hidden face, slowly to the floor.

”Bras-Coupe hears the voice of zombis; the voice is sweet, but the words are very strong; from the same sugar-cane comes _sirop_ and _tafia_; Bras-Coupe says to zombis, 'Bras-Coupe will wait; but if the _dotchians_ deceive Bras-Coupe--” he rose to his feet with his eyes closed and his great black fist lifted over his head--”Bras-Coupe will call Voudou-Magnan!”

The crowd retreated and the storm fell like a burst of infernal applause. A whiff like fifty witches flouted up the canvas curtain of the gallery and a fierce black cloud, drawing the moon under its cloak, belched forth a stream of fire that seemed to flood the ground; a peal of thunder followed as if the sky had fallen in, the house quivered, the great oaks groaned, and every lesser thing bowed down before the awful blast. Every lip held its breath for a minute--or an hour, no one knew--there was a sudden lull of the wind, and the floods came down.

Have you heard it thunder and rain in those Louisiana lowlands? Every clap seems to crack the world. It has rained a moment; you peer through the black pane--your house is an island, all the land is sea.

However, the supper was spread in the hall and in due time the guests were filled. Then a supper was spread in the big hall in the bas.e.m.e.nt, below stairs, the sons and daughters of Ham came down like the fowls of the air upon a rice-field, and Bras-Coupe, throwing his heels about with the joyous carelessness of a s.m.u.tted Mercury, for the first time in his life tasted the blood of the grape. A second, a fifth, a tenth time he tasted it, drinking more deeply each time, and would have taken it ten times more had not his bride cunningly concealed it. It was like stealing a tiger's kittens.