“That you will give me your address, so that when we arrive in New Orleans, I may have the opportunity of renewing your acquaintance, and proving to you my gratitude.”
“Alas, Monsieur! I have no address.”
I felt embarrassed. The melancholy tone in which these words were uttered was not to be mistaken; some grief pressed heavily on that young and generous heart.
It was not for me to inquire into its cause, least of all at that time; but my own secret sorrow enabled me to sympathise the more deeply with others, and I felt I stood beside one whose sky was far from serene. I felt embarrassed by his answer. It left me in a delicate position to make reply. I said at length—
“Perhaps you will do me the favour to call upon me? I live at the Hotel Saint Luis.”
“I shall do so with pleasure.”
“To-morrow?”
“To-morrow night.”
“I shall stay at home for you. Bon soir, Monsieur.”
We parted, each taking the way to his state-room.