CHAPTER XXVII.
THE EVE OF THE WEDDING.
On the night of the slave sale, Don Juan Moraquitos sat alone in the apartment which he called his study.
The following day was that appointed for the Spaniard's marriage with Pauline Corsi, and preparations had been made for the celebration of the ceremony with the splendor worthy of such a wealthy bridegroom.
Pauline and Camillia were together in the young girl's apartments.
On one of the sofas lay the dresses of white satin and lace, which the bride and bridemaid were to wear upon the following morning.
On a table near stood a box, which contained the wreaths selected by the Frenchwoman for herself and Camillia.
This box had not as yet been opened.
"Come, dearest Camillia," exclaimed Pauline; "have you no wish to see the Parisian flowers which are to adorn that beautiful head to-morrow? You certainly are most devoid of that feminine weakness—curiosity."
"I can trust to your taste, Pauline," answered Camillia.