She stood beside the seat with the smile of one foiled and intensely conscious of peril, but neither frightened nor suppliant, holding back with her eyes the execution of Agricola"s threat against her life.
Presently she drew a short step backward, then another, then a third, and then turned and moved away down the avenue of willows, followed for a few steps by the lion and by the laughing comment of the _marchande_, who stood looking after them with her tray balanced on her head.
"_Ya, ya! ye connais voudou bien!_[1]"
[Footnote 1: "They"re up in the voudou arts."]
The old man turned to rejoin his companion. The day was rapidly giving place to night and the people were withdrawing to their homes. He crossed the levee, pa.s.sed through the Place d"Armes and on into the city without meeting the object of his search. For Joseph and the lady had hurried off together.
As the populace floated away in knots of three, four and five, those who had witnessed mademoiselle"s (?) mishap told it to those who had not; explaining that it was the accursed Yankee governor who had designedly driven his horse at his utmost speed against the fair victim (some of them b.u.t.ted against their hearers by way of ill.u.s.tration); that the fiend had then maliciously laughed; that this was all the Yankees came to New Orleans for, and that there was an understanding among them--"Understanding, indeed!" exclaimed one, "They have instructions from the President!"--that unprotected ladies should be run down wherever overtaken. If you didn"t believe it you could ask the tyrant, Claiborne, himself; he made no secret of it. One or two--but they were considered by others extravagant--testified that, as the lady fell, they had seen his face distorted with a horrid delight, and had heard him cry: "Daz de way to knog them!"
"But how came a lady to be out on the levee, at sunset, on foot and alone?" asked a citizen, and another replied--both using the French of the late province:
"As for being on foot"--a shrug. "But she was not alone; she had a _milatraisse_ behind her."
"Ah! so; that was well."
"But--ha, ha!--the _milatraisse_, seeing her mistress out of danger, takes the opportunity to try to bring the curse upon Agricola Fusilier by sitting down where he had just risen up, and had to get away from him as quickly as possible to save her own skull."
"And left the lady?"
"Yes; and who took her to her home at last, but Frowenfeld, the apothecary!"
"Ho, ho! the astrologer! We ought to hang that fellow."
"With his books tied to his feet," suggested a third citizen. "It is no more than we owe to the community to go and smash his show-window. He had better behave himself. Come, gentlemen, a little _taffia_ will do us good. When shall we ever get through these exciting times?"
CHAPTER XVI
STARLIGHT IN THE RUE CHARTRES
"Oh! M"sieur Frowenfel", tague me ad home!"
It was Aurora, who caught the apothecary"s arm vehemently in both her hands with a look of beautiful terror. And whatever Joseph"s astronomy might have previously taught him to the contrary, he knew by his senses that the earth thereupon turned entirely over three times in two seconds.
His confused response, though unintelligible, answered all purposes, as the lady found herself the next moment hurrying across the Place d"Armes close to his side, and as they by-and-by pa.s.sed its farther limits she began to be conscious that she was clinging to her protector as though she would climb up and hide under his elbow. As they turned up the rue Chartres she broke the silence.
"Oh!-h!"--breathlessly,--""h!--M"sieur Frowenf"--you walkin" so faz!"
"Oh!" echoed Frowenfeld, "I did not know what I was doing."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the lady, "me, too, juz de sem lag you!
_attendez_; wait."
They halted; a moment"s deft manipulation of a veil turned it into a wrapping for her neck.
""Sieur Frowenfel", oo dad man was? You know "im?"
She returned her hand to Frowenfeld"s arm and they moved on.
"The one who spoke to you, or--you know the one who got near enough to apologize is not the one whose horse struck you!"
"I din know. But oo dad odder one? I saw h-only "is back, bud I thing it is de sem--"
She identified it with the back that was turned to her during her last visit to Frowenfeld"s shop; but finding herself about to mention a matter so nearly connected with the purse of gold, she checked herself; but Frowenfeld, eager to say a good word for his acquaintance, ventured to extol his character while he concealed his name.
"While I have never been introduced to him, I have some acquaintance with him, and esteem him a n.o.ble gentleman."
"W"ere you meet him?"
"I met him first," he said, "at the graves of my parents and sisters."
There was a kind of hush after the mention, and the lady made no reply.
"It was some weeks after my loss," resumed Frowenfeld.
"In wad _cimetiere_ dad was?"
"In no cemetery--being Protestants, you know--"
"Ah, yes, sir?" with a gentle sigh.
"The physician who attended me procured permission to bury them on some private land below the city."
"Not in de groun"[2]?"
[Footnote 2: Only Jews and paupers are buried in the ground in New Orleans.]
"Yes; that was my father"s expressed wish when he died."
"You "ad de fivver? Oo nurse you w"en you was sick?"
"An old hired negress."
"Dad was all?"
"Yes."
"Hm-m-m!" she said piteously, and laughed in her sleeve.
Who could hope to catch and reproduce the continuous lively thrill which traversed the frame of the escaped book-worm as every moment there was repeated to his consciousness the knowledge that he was walking across the vault of heaven with the evening star on his arm--at least, that he was, at her instigation, killing time along the dim, ill-lighted _trottoirs_ of the rue Chartres, with Aurora listening sympathetically at his side. But let it go; also the sweet broken English with which she now and then interrupted him; also the inward, hidden sparkle of her dancing Gallic blood; her low, merry laugh; the roguish mental reservation that lurked behind her graver speeches; the droll bravados she uttered against the powers that be, as with timid fingers he brushed from her shoulder a little remaining dust of the late encounter--these things, we say, we let go,--as we let b.u.t.terflies go rather than pin them to paper.
They had turned into the rue Bienville, and were walking toward the river, Frowenfeld in the midst of a long sentence, when a low cry of tearful delight sounded in front of them, some one in long robes glided forward, and he found his arm relieved of its burden and that burden transferred to the bosom and pa.s.sionate embrace of another--we had almost said a fairer--Creole, amid a bewildering interchange of kisses and a pelting shower of Creole French.