In my desperation I was about to interrupt the sale. I was about to proclaim aloud its unfairness, in the fact that the Quadroon had been taken out of the order advertised! Even on this poor plea I rested a hope.
It was the straw to the drowning man, but I was determined to grasp it.
I had opened my lips to call out, when some one pulling me by the sleeve caused me to turn round. It was D’Hauteville! Thank Heaven, it was D’Hauteville!
I could scarce restrain myself from shouting with joy. His look told me that he was the bearer of bright gold.
“In time, and none to spare,” whispered he, thrusting a pocket-book between my fingers; “there is three thousand dollars—that will surely be enough; ’tis all I have been able to procure. I cannot stay here—there are those I do not wish to see. I shall meet you after the sale is over. Adieu!”
I scarce thanked him. I saw not his parting. My eyes were elsewhere.
“Fifteen hundred dollars bid for the Quadroon!—good housekeeper—sempstress—fifteen hundred dollars!”
“Two thousand!” I called out, my voice husky with emotion. The sudden leap over such a large sum drew the attention of the crowd upon me. Looks, smiles, and innuendoes were freely exchanged at my expense.
I saw, or rather heeded them not. I saw Aurore, only Aurore, standing upon the daïs like a statue upon its pedestal—the type of sadness and beauty. The sooner I could take her thence, the happier for me; and with that object in view I had made my “bid.”
“Two thousand dollars bid—two thousand—twenty-one hundred dollars—two thousand, one, two—twenty-two hundred dollars bid—twenty-two—”