CHAPTER X
"OO DAD IS, 'SIEUR FROWENFEL'?"
Whether the removal of the veil was because of the milder light of theevening, or the result of accident, or of haste, or both, or whether, byreason of some exciting or absorbing course of thought, the wearer hadwithdrawn it unconsciously, was a matter that occupied the apothecary aslittle as did Agricola's continued harangue. As he looked upon the fairface through the light gauze which still overhung but not obscured it,he readily perceived, despite the sprightly smile, something likedistress, and as she spoke this became still more evident in her hurriedundertone.
"'Sieur Frowenfel', I want you to sell me doze _basilic_."
As she slipped the rings of her purse apart her fingers trembled.
"It is waiting for you," said Frowenfeld; but the lady did not hear him;she was giving her attention to the loud voice of Agricola saying in thecourse of discussion:
"The Louisiana Creole is the noblest variety of enlightened man!"
"Oo dad is, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?" she asked, softly, but with an excitedeye.
"That is Mr. Agricola Fusilier," answered Joseph in the same tone, hisheart leaping inexplicably as he met her glance. With an angry flushshe looked quickly around, scrutinized the old man in an instantaneous,thorough way, and then glanced back at the apothecary again, as ifasking him to fulfil her request the quicker.
He hesitated, in doubt as to her meaning.
"Wrap it yonder," she almost whispered.
He went, and in a moment returned, with the basil only partially hid ina paper covering.
But the lady, muffled again in her manifold veil, had once more lost hereagerness for it; at least, instead of taking it, she moved aside,offering room for a masculine figure just entering. She did not look tosee who it might be--plenty of time to do that by accident, by and by.There she made a mistake; for the new-comer, with a silent bow ofthanks, declined the place made for him, moved across the shop, andoccupied his eyes with the contents of the glass case, his back beingturned to the lady and Frowenfeld. The apothecary recognized the Creolewhom he had met under the live-oak.
The lady put forth her hand suddenly to receive the package. As she tookit and turned to depart, another small hand was laid upon it and it wasreturned to the counter. Something was said in a low-pitched undertone,and the two sisters--if Frowenfeld's guess was right--confronted eachother. For a single instant only they stood so; an earnest and hurriedmurmur of French words passed between them, and they turned together,bowed with great suavity, and were gone.
"The Cession is a mere temporary political manoeuvre!" growled M.Fusilier.
Frowenfeld's merchant friend came from his place of waiting, and spoketwice before he attracted the attention of the bewildered apothecary.
"Good-day, Mr. Frowenfeld; I have been told that--"
Joseph gazed after the two ladies crossing the street, and feltuncomfortable that the group of gossips did the same. So did the blackattendant who glanced furtively back.
"Good-day, Mr. Frowenfeld; I--"
"Oh! how do you do, sir?" exclaimed the apothecary, with greatpleasantness, of face. It seemed the most natural thing that they shouldresume their late conversation just where they had left off, and thatwould certainly be pleasant. But the man of more experience showed anunresponsive expression, that was as if he remembered no conversationof any note.
"I have been told that you might be able to replace the glass in thisthing out of your private stock."
He presented a small, leather-covered case, evidently containing someoptical instrument. "It will give me a pretext for going," he had saidto himself, as he put it into his pocket in his counting-room. He wasnot going to let the apothecary know he had taken such a fancy to him.
"I do not know," replied Frowenfeld, as he touched the spring of thecase; "I will see what I have."
He passed into the back room, more than willing to get out of sighttill he might better collect himself.
"I do not keep these things for sale," said he as he went.
"Sir?" asked the Creole, as if he had not understood, and followedthrough the open door.
"Is this what that lady was getting?" he asked, touching the remnant ofthe basil in the box.
"Yes, sir," said the apothecary, with his face in the drawer of a table.
"They had no carriage with them." The Creole spoke with his back turned,at the same time running his eyes along a shelf of books. Frowenfeldmade only the sound of rejecting bits of crystal and taking up others."I do not know who they are," ventured the merchant.
Joseph still gave no answer, but a moment after approached, with theinstrument in his extended hand.
"You had it? I am glad," said the owner, receiving it, but keeping onehand still on the books.
Frowenfeld put up his materials.
"Mr. Frowenfeld, are these your books? I mean do you use these books?"
"Yes, sir."
The Creole stepped back to the door.
"Agricola!"
"_Quoi_!"
"_Vien ici_."
Citizen Fusilier entered, followed by a small volley of retorts fromthose with whom he had been disputing, and who rose as he did. Thestranger said something very sprightly in French, running the back ofone finger down the rank of books, and a lively dialogue followed.
"You must be a great scholar," said the unknown by and by, addressingthe apothecary.
"He is a professor of chimistry," said the old man.
"I am nothing, as yet, but a student," said Joseph, as the threereturned into the shop; "certainly not a scholar, and still less aprofessor." He spoke with a new quietness of manner that made theyounger Creole turn upon him a pleasant look.
"H-my young friend," said the patriarch, turning toward Joseph with atremendous frown, "when I, Agricola Fusilier, pronounce you a professor,you are a professor. Louisiana will not look to _you_ for yourcredentials; she will look to me!"
He stumbled upon some slight impediment under foot. There were timeswhen it took but little to make Agricola stumble.
Looking to see what it was, Joseph picked up a silken purse. There was aname embroidered on it.
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