I could hold back no longer; but climbing over the garden-fence, I crept forward, followed by D’Hauteville.
In a few seconds both of us had gained the desired position—directly in front of the window, from which we were now separated only by the wood-work of the verandah. Standing half-bent our eyes were on a level with the floor of the room. The curtain had not fallen properly into its place. A single pane of the glass remained unscreened, and through this we could see nearly the whole interior of the apartment. Our ears, too, were at the proper elevation to catch every sound; and persons conversing within the room we could hear distinctly.
We were right in our conjecture. It was Aurore we had seen. Gayarre was the other occupant of the room.
I shall not paint that scene. I shall not repeat the words to which we listened. I shall not detail the speeches of that mean villain—at first fulsome and flattering—then coarse, bold, and brutal; until at length, failing to effect his purpose by entreaties, he had recourse to threats.
D’Hauteville held me back, begging me in earnest whispers to be patient. Once or twice I had almost determined to spring forward, dash aside the sash, and strike the ruffian to the floor. Thanks to the prudent interference of my companion, I restrained myself.
The scene ended by Gayarre going out of the room indignant, but somewhat crest-fallen. The bold, upright bearing of the Quadroon—whose strength, at least, equalled that of her puny assailant—had evidently intimidated him for the moment, else he might have resorted to personal violence.
His threats, however, as he took his departure; left no doubt of his intention soon to renew his brutal assault. He felt certain of his victim—she was his slave, and must yield. He had ample time and opportunity. He need not at once proceed to extremes. He could wait until his valour, somewhat cowed, should return again, and imbue him with a fresh impulse.
The disappearance of Gayarre gave us an opportunity to make our presence known to Aurore. I was about to climb up to the verandah and tap on the glass; but my companion prevented me from doing so.
“It is not necessary,” he whispered; “she certainly knows you will be here. Leave it to her. She will return to the window presently. Patience, Monsieur! a false step will ruin all. Remember the dogs!”
There was prudence in these counsels, and I gave way to them. A few minutes would decide; and we both crouched close, and watched the movements of the Quadroon.