"Almost—for I am free."
"Is this M. Rouvigny still at Martinique?"
"Yes, as commandant."
"Good! we shall soon be there, and perhaps, madame, it may be my happy lot to avenge you," I exclaimed, with an ardent impulse which her story and misfortunes both inspired.
Such was the adventurous narrative of Eulalie, ere the conclusion of which the early hours of morning surprised us.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
OUR ESTEEM PROGRESSES.
Her beauty, her winning manner, and a lisping broken English (for much that she said was in broken English, though we generally conversed in French), all conduced to lend an additional charm to this fair foreigner. Her story and her friendlessness filled my heart with interest, and with her image. After this night, she frequently spoke to me of Rouvigny, and always with abhorrence; but of her first love, the Chevalier de Losme, she never spoke again. I remarked this, and though I knew that this man had loved her long ago and was dead, the conviction that she felt an interest in his memory galled and fretted me. Why was this?
I leave casuists to determine.
This was likely to be my second love affair, for with soldierlike facility, I had already forgotten poor little Amy Lee.