And withal, Aurore is a poor slave just like the rest of you, Scipio?
Oh! no, massr; she be berry different from de rest. She lib different life from de other nigga she no hard work she berry vallyble she fetch two thousand dollar!
Fetch two thousand dollars!
Ye, massr, ebbery cent ebbery cent ob daat.
How know you?
Case daat much war bid for her. Massr Marigny want buy Rore, an Massr Crozat, and de American Colonel on de oder side ob ribber dey all bid two thousand dollar ole massr he only larf at um, and say he wont sell de gal for no money.
This was in old masters time?
Ye ye but one bid since one boss ob ribber-boat he say he want Rore for de lady cabin. He talk rough to her. Missa she angry tell im go. Massr Toney he angry, tell im go; and de boat captain he go angry like de rest. Hya! hya! hya!
And why should Aurore command such a price?
Oh! she berry good gal berry good gal but
Scipio hesitated a moment but
Well?
I dont blieve, massr, daats de reason.
What, then?
Why, massr, to tell de troof, I blieve dar all bad men daat wanted to buy de gal.
Delicately as it was conveyed, I understood the insinuation.
Ho! Aurore must be beautiful, then? Is it so, friend Scipio?
Massr, taint for dis ole nigger to judge bout daat; but folks dey say bof white folks an black folks daat she am de best-lookin an hansomest quaderoom in all Loozyanna.
Ha! a quadroon ?
Daat are a fact, massr, daat same she be a gal ob colour nebber mind she white as young missa herseff. Missa larf and say so many, many time, but frall daat dar am great difference one rich lady tother poor slave jes like Ole Zip ay, jes like Ole Zip buy em, sell em, all de same.
Could you describe Aurore, Scipio?
It was not idle curiosity that prompted me to put this question. A stronger motive impelled me. The dream-face still haunted me those features of strange type its strangely-beautiful expression, not Caucasian, not Indian, not Asiatic. Was it possible probable
Could you describe her, Scipio? I repeated.
Scribe her, massr; daat what you mean? ye yes.
I had no hope of a very lucid painting, but perhaps a few points would serve to identify the likeness of my vision. In my mind the portrait was as plainly drawn as if the real face were before my eyes. I should easily tell if Aurore and my dream were one. I began to think it was no dream, but a reality.
Well, massr, some folks says she am proud, case de common niggers envy ob her daats de troof. She nebber proud to Ole Zip, daat I knows she talk to im, an tell im many tings she help teach Ole Zip read, and de ole Chloe, and de leettle Chloe, an she
It is a description of her person I ask for, Scipio.
Oh! a scription ob her person ye daat is, what am she like?
So. What sort of hair, for instance? What colour is it?
Brack, massr; brack as a boot.
Is it straight hair?
No, massr ob course not Aurore am a quaderoom.
It curls?
Well, not dzactly like this hyar; here Scipio pointed to his own kinky head-covering; but for all daat, massr, it curls what folks call de wave.
I understand; it falls down to her shoulders?
Daat it do, massr, down to de berry small ob her back.
Luxuriant?
What am dat, massr?
Thick bushy.
Golly! it am as bushy as de ole coons tail.
Now the eyes?
Scipios description of the quadroons eyes was rather a confused one. He was happy in a simile, however, which I felt satisfied with: Dey am big an round dey shine like de eyes of a deer. The nose puzzled him, but after some elaborate questioning, I could make out that it was straight and small. The eyebrows the teeth the complexion were all faithfully pictured that of the cheeks by a simile, like de red ob a Georgium peach.
Comic as was the description given, I had no inclination to be amused with it. I was too much interested in the result, and listened to every detail with an anxiety I could not account for.
The portrait was finished at length, and I felt certain it must be that of the lovely apparition. When Scipio
had ended speaking, I lay upon my couch burning with an intense desire to see this fair this priceless quadroon. Just then a bell rang from the house.
Scipio wanted, massr daat him bell be back, gain in a minute, massr.
So saying, the negro left me, and ran towards the house.
I lay reflecting on the singular somewhat romantic situation in which circumstances had suddenly placed me. But yesterday but the night before a traveller, without a dollar in my purse, and not knowing what roof would next shelter me to-day the guest of a lady, young, rich, unmarried the invalid guest laid up for an indefinite period; well cared for and well attended.
These thoughts soon gave way to others. The dream-face drove them out of my mind, and I found myself comparing it with Scipios picture of the quadroon. The more I did so, the more I was struck with their correspondence. How could I have dreamt a thing so palpable? Scarce probable. Surely I must have seen it? Why not? Forms and faces were around me when I fainted and was carried in; why not hers among the rest? This was, indeed, probable, and would explain all. But was she among them? I should ask Scipio on his return.