“Hundred ’n’ fifty dollar––this what he said, but, God knows, lawyers got hold o’ things now, maybe even more ’n that now, an’ anyway––”
His words sounded vague and confused in his own ears, for she was writing, and did not appear to hear.
“Where is this Larue place?” she asked, glancing up. “I heard of a Jean Larue plantation across in Georgia––is this it?”
“No’m,” and he turned an eager look of hope towards Margeret at this pointed questioning, but her expression was unchanged; she only looked at the strange lady who questioned and showed sympathy.
“No, mist’ess, this Mahs Jean Larue did stay on they Georgy plantation till five yeah back, then they move ovah to Callina again; that how I come to meet up with Rosa. Larue place down river towards Beaufort––a whole day’s walken’.”
“What did you say this child was named?” she asked, without ceasing the movement of the pen over the white paper.
“His name Ezekal, but we ain’t nevah call him anything but Zekal––he’s so little yet.”
“And when is this sale to be?”
Pluto looked helplessly towards Margeret.
“Tomorrow week, Madame Caron,” she said, speaking for the first time, though her steady gaze had almost made Judithe nervous. It had a peculiar, appealing quality, which Judithe, with a little grimace, assured herself was so appealing it was compelling; it left her no choice but to do what she was doing and for which she could take no credit whatever to herself––the wistful eyes of the pale-faced bondwoman did it all.