July 24th.—I noticed to-day more than ever the melancholy that seems to press upon the spirit of Mademoiselle. I am now convinced that Antoine’s death is not the cause of it. There is some present source of distraction, which renders her ill at ease. I have again observed that singular glance with which she at first regarded me; but it was so transitory, I could not read its meaning, and my heart and eyes were searching elsewhere. Aurore gazes upon me less timidly, and seems to be interested in my conversation, though it is not addressed to her. Would that it were! Converse with her would perhaps relieve my heart, which burns all the more fiercely under the restraint of silence.
July 25th.—Several of the “field-hands” indulged too freely on yesternight. They had “passes” to the town, and came back late. “Bully Bill” has flogged them all this morning, and very severely—so as to draw the blood from their backs. This is rough enough for a new overseer; but Scipio learns that he is an “old hand” at the business. Surely Mademoiselle does not know of these barbarities!
July 26th.—The doctor promises to let me out in three days. I have grown to esteem this man—particularly since I made the discovery that he is not a friend of Gayarre. He is not his medical attendant either. There is another medico in the village, who has charge of Monsieur Dominique and his blacks, as also the slaves of the Besançon plantation. The latter chanced to be out of the way, and so Reigart was called to me. Professional etiquette partly, and partly my own interference, forbade any change in this arrangement; and the latter continued to attend me. I have seen the other gentleman, who came once in Reigart’s company, and he appears much more suited to be the friend of the avocat.
Reigart is a stranger in Bringiers, but seems to be rapidly rising in the esteem of the neighbouring planters. Indeed, many of these—the “grandees” among them—keep physicians of their own, and pay them handsomely, too! It would be an unprofitable speculation to neglect the health of the slave; and on this account it is better looked after than that of the “poor white folks” in many a European state.
I have endeavoured to draw from the doctor some facts, regarding the connexion existing between Gayarre and the family of Besançon. I could only make distant allusion to such a subject. I obtained no very satisfactory information. The doctor is what might be termed a “close man,” and too much talking would not make one of his profession very popular in Louisiana. He either knows but little of their affairs, or affects not to know; and yet, from some expressions that dropped from him, I suspect the latter to be the more probable.
“Poor young lady!” said he; “quite alone in the world. I believe there is an aunt, or something of the kind, who lives in New Orleans, but she has no male relation to look after her affairs. Gayarre seems to have everything in his hands.”
I gathered from the doctor that Eugénie’s father had been much richer at one period—one of the most extensive planters on the coast; that he had kept a sort of “open house,” and dispensed hospitality in princely style. “Fêtes” on a grand scale had been given, and this more particularly of late years. Even since his death profuse hospitality has been carried on, and Mademoiselle continues to receive her father’s guests after her father’s fashion. Suitors she has in plenty, but the doctor has heard of no one who is regarded in the light of a “lover.”
Gayarre had been the intimate friend of Besançon. Why, no one could tell; for their natures were as opposite as the poles. It was thought by some that their friendship had a little of the character of that which usually exists between debtor and creditor.
The information thus imparted by the doctor confirms what Scipio has already told me. It confirms, too, my suspicions in regard to the young Creole, that there is a cloud upon the horizon of her future, darker than any that has shadowed her past—darker even than that produced by the memory of Antoine!
July 28th.—Gayarre has been here to-day—at the house, I mean. In fact, he visits Mademoiselle nearly every day; but Scipio tells me something new and strange. It appears that some of the slaves who had been flogged, complained of the overseer to their young mistress; and she in her turn spoke to Gayarre on the subject. His reply was that the “black rascals deserved all they had got, and more,” and somewhat rudely upheld the ruffian Larkin, who is beyond a doubt his protégé. The lady was silent.