He did not love in vain.
No, as years passed on, and the bud changed to the lovely blossom, Camillia's feelings changed toward her father's protege. No longer could she greet him with a sister's calm smile of welcome. The ardent gaze of his dark eyes brought the crimson blush to her cheek and brow; her slender hand trembled when it rested in his—trembled responsive to the thrill which shook the young man's strong frame; her voice faltered as she addressed him, and her Southern eyes veiled themselves beneath their sheltering lashes, and dared not uplift themselves to his.
She loved him!
Happy and cloudless sunshine of youth. They loved, and earth became transformed into a paradise—the sky a roof of sapphire glory; the sunny river a flood of melted diamonds. The magic wand of the young blind god, Cupid, changed all things round them into splendor.
They dreamed not of the future. They thought not of the stern policy of a father, implacable in the pride of wealth. No, the distant storm-cloud was hidden from their radiant eyes.
"My Camillia," exclaimed the young man; "think you I can fail to achieve greatness when your love is to be the crown of the struggle? Think you I can falter on the road that leads to success, when your eyes will be the loadstars to guide my way?"
The reader will see, therefore, that love and ambition went hand in hand in the soul of Paul Lisimon, and that higher motives than the mere lust of gain, or even the hope of glory, beckoned him on to victory.
It is not to be expected that Camillia Moraquitos was without suitors among the higher classes of New Orleans.
Had she been blind, lame, hump-backed, red-haired, a vixen, or a fury, there would yet, doubtless, have been hundreds ready to kneel before the charm of her father's wealth, and to declare the heiress an angel. But when it is remembered that her future fortune was only exceeded by her glorious beauty, it will be thought little marvel that she had a host of admirers ever ready to flock round her at her father's soirees, to attend her in her drives, to haunt her box at the opera or the theatre, and to talk of her beauty in all the coffee-houses of New Orleans. Our readers must remember that there is much in this chief city of Louisiana, which resembles rather a French than an English town. The inhabitants are many of them of French extraction. The coffee-houses—or cafes as they are called—resemble those of Paris; the gambling-houses and theatres are Parisian in arrangements, and the young men of the upper classes have much of the polish of our Gallic neighbors, mingled with not a little of their frivolity.
Among the many suitors for the hand of Camillia Moraquitos was no less a person than Augustus Horton.