My attendants removed the breakfast things, and after a while Scipio returned to remain in the room with me, for such were his orders.
“And now, Scipio,” I said, as soon as we were alone, “tell me of Aurore!”
“’Rore, mass’r!”
“Yes—Who is Aurore?”
“Poor slave, mass’r; jes like Ole Zip heamseff.”
The vague interest I had begun to feel in “Aurore” vanished at once.
“A slave!” repeated I, involuntarily, and in a tone of disappointment.
“She Missa ’Génie’s maid,” continued Scipio; “dress missa’s hair—wait on her—sit wi’ her—read to her—do ebbery ting—”
“Read to her! what!—a slave?”
My interest in Aurore began to return.