The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  A SURPRISE.

  My reflections were interrupted by the neighing of my horse. I glancedforward to ascertain the cause. I was opposite the plantation Besancon.A carriage was just wheeling out from the gate. The horses were headeddown the Levee road, and going off at a trot, were soon lost behind thecloud of dust raised by the hoofs and wheels.

  I recognised the carriage. It was the barouche of MademoiselleBesancon. I could not tell who were its occupants, though, from theslight glimpse I had got of them, I saw there were ladies in it.

  "Mademoiselle herself, accompanied by Aurore, no doubt."

  I believed that they had not observed me, as the high fence concealedall but my head, and the carriage had turned abruptly on passing out ofthe gate.

  I felt disappointed. I had had my ride for nothing, and might now rideback again to Bringiers.

  I had drawn bridle with this intent, when it occurred to me I couldstill overtake the carriage and change words with its occupants. With_her_, even the interchange of a glance was worth such a gallop.

  I laid the spur to the ribs of my horse and sprang him forward.

  As I came opposite the house I saw Scipio by the gate. He was justclosing it after the carriage.

  "Oh!" thought I, "I may as well be sure as to whom I am gallopingafter."

  With this idea I inclined my horse's head a little, and drew up in frontof Scipio.

  "Gollies! how young mass'r ride! Ef he don't do daat business jes up tode hub! Daat 'im do. Wugh!"

  Without taking notice of his complimentary speech, I inquired hastily ifMademoiselle was at home.

  "No, mass'r, she jes dis moment gone out--she drive to Mass'r Marigny."

  "Alone?"

  "Ye, mass'r."

  "Of course Aurore is with her?"

  "No, mass'r; she gone out by harseff. 'Rore, she 'tay at home."

  If the negro had been observant he might have noticed the effect of thisannouncement upon me, for I am sure it must have been sufficientlyapparent. I felt it in the instant upheaving of my heart, and theflushing that suddenly fevered my cheeks.

  "Aurore at home, and alone!"

  It was the first time during all the course of my wooing that such a"chance" had offered; and I almost gave expression to my agreeablesurprise.

  Fortunately I did not; for even the faithful Scipio was not to betrusted with such a secret.

  With an effort I collected myself, and tamed down my horse, now chafingto continue his gallop. In doing so his head was turned in thedirection of the village. Scipio thought I was going to ride back.

  "Sure mass'r not go till he rest a bit? Missa 'Genie not home, but daram 'Rore. 'Rore get mass'r glass ob claret; Ole Zip make um sangaree.Day berry, berry hot. Wugh!"

  "You are about right, Scipio," I replied, pretending to yield to hispersuasion. "Take my horse round to the stable. I shall rest a fewminutes."

  I dismounted, and, passing the bridle to Scipio, stepped inside thegate.

  It was about a hundred paces to the house, by the direct walk that ledfrom the gate to the front door. But there were two other paths, thatwound around the sides of the shrubbery, through copses of low trees--laurels, myrtles, and oranges. A person approaching by either of thesecould not be seen from the house until close to the very windows. Fromeach of these paths the low verandah could be reached without going bythe front. There were steps leading into it--into the interior of thehouse as well--for the windows that fronted upon the verandah were,after the Creole fashion, glass folding-doors, that opened to thebottom, so that the floors of the rooms and verandah-platform were uponthe same level.

  On passing through the gate, I turned into one of these side-paths (forcertain reasons giving it the preference), and walked silently ontowards the house.

  I had taken the longer way, and advanced slowly for the purpose ofcomposing myself. I could hear the beating of my own heart, and feelits quick nervous throbs, quicker than my steps, as I approached thelong-desired interview. I believe I should have been more collected ingoing up to the muzzle of an antagonist's pistol!

  The long yearning for such an opportunity--the well-known difficulty ofobtaining it--the anticipation of that sweetest pleasure on earth--thepleasure of being alone with her I loved--all blended in my thoughts.No wonder they were wild and somewhat bewildered.

  I should now meet Aurore face to face alone, with but Love's god as awitness. I should speak unrestrainedly and free. I should hear _her_voice, listen to the soft confession that she loved me. I should foldher in my arms--against my bosom! I should drink love from her swimmingeyes, taste it on her crimson cheek, her coral lips! Oh, I should speaklove, and hear it spoken! I should listen to its delirious ravings!

  A heaven of happiness was before me. No wonder my thoughts were wild--no wonder I vainly strove to calm them.

  I reached the house, and mounted the two or three steps that led up intothe verandah. The latter was carpeted with a mat of sea-grass, and my_chaussure_ was light, so that my tread was as silent as that of a girl.It could scarce have been heard within the chamber whose windows I waspassing.

  I proceeded on toward the drawing-room, which opened to the front by twoof the large door-windows already mentioned. I turned the angle, andthe next moment would have passed the first of these windows, had asound not reached me that caused me to arrest my steps. The sound was avoice that came from the drawing-room, whose windows stood open. Ilistened--it was the voice of Aurore!

  "In conversation with some one! with whom? Perhaps little Chloe? hermother? some one of the domestics?"

  I listened.

  "By Heaven! it is the voice of a man! Who can he be? Scipio? No;Scipio cannot yet have left the stable. It cannot be he. Some other ofthe plantation people? Jules, the wood-chopper? the errand-boy,Baptiste? Ha! it is not a negro's voice. No, it is the voice of awhite man! the overseer?"

  As this idea came into my head, a pang at the same time shot through myheart--a pang, not of jealousy, but something like it. I was angry at_him_ rather than jealous with _her_. As yet I had heard nothing tomake me jealous. His being present with her, and in conversation, wasno cause.

  "So, my bold nigger-driver," thought I, "you have got over yourpredilection for the little Chloe. Not to be wondered at! Who wouldwaste time gazing at stars when there is such a moon in the sky? Brutethat you are, you are not blind. I see you, too, have an eye toopportunities, and know when to enter the drawing-room."

  "Hush!"

  Again I listened. When I had first halted, it was through motives ofdelicacy. I did not wish to appear too suddenly before the open window,which would have given me a full view of the interior of the apartment.I had paused, intending to herald my approach by some noise--a feignedcough, or a stroke of my foot against the floor. My motives hadundergone a change. I now listened with a design. I could not help it.

  Aurore was speaking.

  I bent my ear close to the window. The voice was at too great adistance, or uttered too low, for me to hear what was said. I couldhear the silvery tones, but could not distinguish the words. She mustbe at the further end of the room, thought I. _Perhaps, upon the sofa_.This conjecture led me to painful imaginings, till the throbbings of myheart drowned the murmur that was causing them.

  At length Aurore's speech was ended. I waited for the reply. Perhaps Imight gather from that what _she_ had said. The tones of the male voicewould be loud enough to enable me--

  Hush! hark!

  I listened--I caught the sound of a voice, but not the words. The soundwas enough. It caused me to start as if stung by an adder. _It was thevoice of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre_!