“De Madame ain’t ’fraid ob nuffin,” was the emphatic reply. “She usen ter go often. She done carried heaps ob things ter de rebs.”
“But it has been because of her brother, Feliciane,” said Jeanne, gently trying not to condemn her aunt too severely.
“Huh brudder? What brudder? She ain’t got no brudder. What you talkin’ ’bout?”
“Oh, Feliciane, aren’t we carrying food and medicine to her poor wounded brother, Auguste?”
“What makes you think dat, chile? Massa Auguste killed long time ago when de wah fust beginned. ’Couhse we ain’t takin’ things ter huh brudder. We’s carryin’ news ter de Massa Gin’ral dat de Yanks gwine ter ’tack him.”
“Then,” said Jeanne bitterly. “I have been fooled. I will give no aid to the enemy. Turn this boat back, Feliciane.”
“Not ef I knows myself, honey. I done want no whoppin’. Madame Vance sent me, an’ I’se gwine ter do what she say. What’d yer kum fer ef yer didn’t want ter holpe dem?”
“Because I did not know what I was doing. Madame told me it was to take food to her wounded brother.”
“She’s a great one fer pullin’ de wool ober de eyes,” chuckled the negress. “Missus kum nigh gittin’ ketched de las’ time she kummed, so den she sent you.”
“Oh!” Jeanne sat very still, her heart heavy with what she had heard. Truthful herself, the knowledge that her aunt could stoop to such duplicity filled her with anguish. Her eyes were fast opening to the fact that the sweetness of the lady and her honeyed words masked a cruel, treacherous nature, and unaccustomed as she was to deceit of any sort she was weighed down by the discovery.