This was strange enough. Taking the black aside—
“Tell me, Scipio,” I asked, “has Aurore any relative among you?—any brother, or sister, or cousin?”
“No, mass’, ne’er a one. Golly, mass’! ’Rore she near white as missa ’Génie all de rest be black, or leas’wise yeller! ’Rore she quaderoom, yeller folks all mulatto—no kin to ’Rore—no.”
I was perplexed and puzzled. My former doubts came crowding back upon me. My jealousy returned.
Scipio could not clear up the mystery. His answer to other questions which I put to him gave me no solution to it; and I returned up-stairs with a heart that suffered under the pressure of disappointment.
The only reflection from which I drew comfort was, that I might have been mistaken. Perhaps, after all, it was not Aurore!