‘Was he hurt?’ cried Quita suddenly.
However frivolous a woman may be, she cannot quite lose all interest, at a moment’s notice, in the man she has loved.
‘Oh, no, missy! Massa Courcelles same like part of horse. He nebber thrown; only, he swear and curse plenty at Jerusha.’
‘Who is Jerusha?’ asked Quita, betrayed by curiosity into forgetting her studied reticence; ‘and why should she throw dirt at Monsieur de Courcelles?’
‘Ah, missy not knowing. Jerusha only a poor coolie, but all de niggers would throw dirt at Massa Courcelles if they dared. But he been berry bad man to poor Jerusha—same as he been to my missy,’ added Jessica, in a lower tone.
Maraquita turned deathly white.
‘How has he hurt Jerusha?’ she asked, in spite of herself.
‘He’s left her with a baby, Missy Quita—a nice baby, too, most as white as himself, with his eyes and hair; but Jerusha feel bad about it, ’cause he’s treated her berry cruel, and whipt them both with de cowhide.’
Maraquita turned her head aside, and burst into tears. She would have given worlds that the old nurse should not have witnessed her emotion, but she could not restrain it. How true it is that the love of most women is founded on vanity, and that even if they do not want a man themselves, they cannot bear that any one else should have him. Besides, this degrading liaison with a coolie girl had taken place at the very time that Henri de Courcelles had been swearing eternal love to herself. Quita did indeed feel at that moment that she had parted with a woman’s best possession for nothing. She had never been so terribly humiliated before. Jessica was not slow to take advantage of her young mistress’s weakness.
‘Don’t cry, missy,’ she said; ‘dat man not worth one tear from my missy’s bright eyes. He false and cruel, and got bad heart. Missy forget all about dis trouble when she marry de Governor. And Missy Liz will keep de secret, nebber fear, and old Jessica too. Nobody tell nuffin, de Governor nebber know, and den eberyting go right.’