I spurred into a gallop, and soon came in sight of the plantation. Having arrived at the gate, I dismounted. There was no one to hold my horse, but that is a slight matter in America, where a gate-post or a branch of a tree often serves as a groom.
Bethinking me of this ready expedient I tossed my rein over one of the palings, and walked toward the house.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
“Elle t’aime!”
It was natural I should have thoughts about my yesterday’s antagonist. Would I encounter him? Not likely. The butt of my whip had no doubt given him a headache that would confine him for some days to his quarters. But I was prepared for any event. Under my waistcoat were his own double-barrelled pistols, which I intended to use, if attacked. It was my first essay at carrying “concealed weapons,” but it was the fashion of the country at the time—a fashion followed by nineteen out of every twenty persons you met—by planters, merchants, lawyers, doctors, and even divines! So prepared, I had no fear of an encounter with “Bully Bill.” If my pulse beat quick and my step was nervous, it was on account of the anticipated interview with his mistress.
With all the coolness I could command, I entered the house.
I found Mademoiselle in the drawing-room. She received me without reserve or embarrassment. To my surprise as well as gratification she appeared more cheerful than usual. I could even detect a significant smile! I fancied she was pleased at what had occurred; for of course she was aware of it all. I could understand this well enough.
Aurore was not present. I was glad she was not. I hoped she would not come into the room—at least for a time. I was embarrassed. I scarce knew how to open the conversation, much less to break to Mademoiselle the matter that was nearest my heart. A few ordinary phrases passed between us, and then our conversation turned upon the affair of yesterday. I told her all—everything—except the scene with Aurore. That was omitted.