“Oh! she berry good gal—berry good gal—but—”

Scipio hesitated a moment—“but—”

“Well?”

“I don’t b’lieve, mass’r, daat’s de reason.”

“What, then?”

“Why, mass’r, to tell de troof, I b’lieve dar all bad men daat wanted to buy de gal.”

Delicately as it was conveyed, I understood the insinuation.

“Ho! Aurore must be beautiful, then? Is it so, friend Scipio?”

“Mass’r, ’taint for dis ole nigger to judge ’bout daat; but folks dey say—bof white folks an black folks—daat she am de best-lookin’ an hansomest quaderoom in all Loozyanna.”

“Ha! a quadroon?”