“It is that spendthrift––Trouvelot, you care for?”
“Not this minute,” confessed the girl; “but,” and she shrugged her shoulders, “I probably shall tomorrow! I know myself well enough for that; and I won’t lie––to you! You saw how he could make me cry? It is only the man we care for who can hurt us.”
The Marquise did not reply; she was staring out of the window. Kora, watching her, did not know if she heard. She had heard and was angry with herself that her heart grew lighter when she heard the name of Kora’s lover.
“I––I will not intrude longer, Madame,” said the girl at last. “What you’ve said will make me think more. I never heard of what you’ve told me today. I wish there were women in America like you; oh, I wish there were! There are good white ladies there, of course, but they don’t teach the slaves to think; they only tell them to have faith! They teach them from their bible; and all I could ever remember of it was: ‘Servants, obey your masters;’ and I hated it. So you see, Madame, it is too late for me; I don’t know any other life; I––”
“I will help you to a different life whenever you are willing to leave Paris,” said the Marquise.
“You would do that, Madame?”
Kora dropped into the chair again, covering her face with her hands. After a little she looked up, and the cunning of her class was in her eyes.
“Is it to separate me from him?” she asked, bluntly. “I know they want him to marry; are you a friend of his family?”
The Marquise smiled at that.