But, continued Scipio, turning upon me an inquiring look, howd young massr come by de big ugly cut? Dats jes wha de Doc wanted to know, an dats jes wha young missa didnt know nuffin tall bout.
For certain reasons I forbore satisfying the curiosity of my sable nurse, but lay for a moment reflecting. True, the lady knew nothing of my encounter with the bully. Ha! Antoine then. Had he not come ashore? Was he ? Scipio anticipated the question I was about to put. His face became sad as he recommenced speaking.
Ah! young massr, Mamselle Génie be in great stress dis mornin all de folks be in great stress. Massr Toney! Poor Massr Toney.
The steward, Antoine? What of him? Tell me, has he not come home?
No, massr Ise afeerd he nebber, nebber will ebberybody feerd he be drownded folks a been to de village up an down de Lebee ebery wha. No Toney. Captain ob de boat blowed clar into de sky, an fifty passengers gone to de bottom. Oder boat save some; some, like young massr, swam shore: but no Toney no Massr Toney!
Do you know if he could swim? I asked.
No, massr, neer a stroke. I knows daat, kase he once falled into de bayou, and Ole Zip pull im out. No he nebber swim nebber.
Then I fear he is lost indeed.
I remembered that the wreck went down before the Magnolia had got close alongside. I had noticed this on looking around. Those who could not swim, therefore, must have perished.
Poor Pierre, too. We hab lost Pierre.
Pierre? Who was he?
De coachman, massr, he war.
Oh! I remember. You think he is drowned, also?
Ise afeerd so, massr. Ole Zip sorry, too, for Pierre. A good nigger war daat Pierre. But, Massr Toney, Massr Toney, ebberybody sorry for Massr Toney.
He was a favourite among you?
Ebberybody like im black folks, white folks, all lub im. Missa Génie lub im. He live wi ole Massr Sançon all him life. I believe war one ob Missy Génie gardiums, or whatever you call em. Gorramighty! what will young Missa do now? She hab no friends leff; and daat ole fox Gayarre he no good
Here the speaker suddenly interrupted himself, as if he feared that his tongue was going too freely.
The name he had pronounced and the expression by which it was qualified, at once awakened my curiosity the name more than the qualification.
If it be the same, thought I, Scipio has characterised him not otherwise than justly. Can it be the same?
You mean Monsieur Dominique Gayarre, the avocat ? I asked, after a pause.
Scipios great white eyeballs rolled about with an expression of mingled surprise and apprehension, and rather stammeringly he replied:
Daat am de genlums name. Know im, young massr?
Only very slightly, I answered, and this answer seemed to set my companion at his ease again.
The truth is, I had no personal acquaintance with the individual mentioned; but during my stay in New Orleans, accident had brought me in contact with the name. A little adventure had befallen me, in which the bearer of it figured not to advantage. On the contrary, I had conceived a strong dislike for the man, who, as already stated, was a lawyer, or avocat of the New Orleans bar. Scipios man was no doubt the same. The name was too rare a one to be borne by two individuals; besides, I had heard that he was owner of a plantation somewhere up the coast at Bringiers, I remembered. The probabilities were it was he. If so, and Mademoiselle Besançon had
no other friend, then, indeed, had Scipio spoken truly when he said, She hab no friends leff.
Scipios observation had not only roused my curiosity, but had imparted to me a vague feeling of uneasiness. It is needless to say that I was now deeply interested in this young Creole. A man who has saved a life the life of a beautiful woman and under such peculiar circumstances, could not well be indifferent to the after-fate of her he has rescued.
Was it a lovers interest that had been awakened within me?
My heart answered, No! To my own astonishment, it gave this answer. On the boat I had fancied myself half in love with this young lady; and now, after a romantic incident one that might appear a very provocative to the sublime passion I lay on my couch contemplating the whole affair with a coolness that surprised even myself! I felt that I had lost much blood had my incipient passion flowed out of my veins at the same time?
I endeavoured to find some explanation for this rare psychological fact; but at that time I was but an indifferent student of the mind. The land of love was to me a terre inconnue .
One thing was odd enough. Whenever I essayed to recall the features of the Creole, the dream-face rose up before me more palpable than ever!
Strange! thought I, this lovely vision! this dream of my diseased brain! Oh! what would I not give to embody this fair spectral form!
I had no longer a doubt about it. I was certain I did not love Mademoiselle Besançon, and yet I was far from feeling indifferent towards her. Friendship was the feeling that now actuated me. The interest, I felt for her was that of a friend. Strong enough was it to render me anxious on her account to make me desirous of knowing more both of herself and her affairs.