In hopes she would speak first, and, perchance, give me a key to what I should say, I remained for some moments without opening my lips. I pretended to feel pain from my wound, and turned uneasily on the bed. She seemed not to notice this, but remained in her attitude of surprise, simply repeating the words—
“’Tis very strange he should know your name!”
My imprudent speech had made an impression. I could remain silent no longer; and, turning my face once more, I pretended now for the first time to be aware of Mademoiselle’s presence, at the same time offering my congratulations, and expressing my joy at seeing her.
After one or two anxious inquiries in relation to my wound, she asked—
“But how came you to name Aurore?”
“Aurore!” I replied. “Oh! you think it strange that I should know her name? Thanks to Scipio’s faithful portraiture, I knew at the first glance that this was Aurore.”
I pointed to the quadroon, who had retired a pace or two, and stood silent and evidently astonished.
“Oh! Scipio has been speaking of her?”
“Yes, ma’amselle. He and I have had a busy morning of it. I have drawn largely on Scipio’s knowledge of plantation affairs. I am already acquainted with Aunt Chloe, and little Chloe, and a whole host of your people. These things interest me who am strange to your Louisiana life.”
“Monsieur,” replied the lady, seemingly satisfied with my explanation, “I am glad you are so well. The doctor has given me the assurance you will soon recover. Noble stranger! I have heard how you received your wound. For me it was—in my defence. Oh! how shall I ever repay you?—how thank you for my life?”