“Ha! Why do you think so, Monsieur D’Hauteville.”
“I have my suspicion that a certain individual designs—”
“Who?”
“Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.”
“Oh! heavens! Gayarre! Gayarre!”
“Yes; from what you have told me—from what I know myself—for I, too, have some knowledge of Dominique Gayarre.”
“Gayarre! Gayarre! Oh, God!”
I could only ejaculate. The announcement had almost deprived me of the power of speech. A sensation of numbness seemed to creep over me—a prostration of spirit, as if some horrid danger was impending and nigh, and I without the power to avert it.
Strange this thought had not occurred to me before. I had supposed that the quadroon would be sold to some buyer in the ordinary course; some one who would be disposed to resell at a profit—perhaps an enormous one; but in time I should be prepared for that. Strange I had never thought of Gayarre becoming the purchaser. But, indeed, since the hour when I first heard of the bankruptcy, my thoughts had been running too wildly to permit me to reflect calmly upon anything.
Now it was clear. It was no longer a conjecture; most certainly, Gayarre would become the master of Aurore. Ere another night her body would be his property. Her soul—Oh, God! Am I awake?—do I dream?