Chapter Twenty One.
A Change of Quarters.
I was thinking over my short interview with Aurore—congratulating myself upon some expressions she had dropped—happy in the anticipation that such encounters would recur frequently, now that I was able to be abroad—when in the midst of my pleasant reverie the door of my apartment became darkened. I looked up, and beheld the hated face of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.
It was his first visit since the morning after my arrival upon the plantation. What could he want with me?
I was not kept long in suspense, for my visitor, without even apologising for his intrusion, opened his business abruptly and at once.
“Monsieur,” began he, “I have made arrangements for your removal to the hotel at Bringiers.”
“You have?” said I, interrupting him in a tone as abrupt and something more indignant than his own. “And who, sir, may I ask, has commissioned you to take this trouble?”
“Ah—oh!” stammered he, somewhat tamed down by his brusque reception, “I beg pardon, Monsieur. Perhaps you are not aware that I am the agent—the friend—in fact, the guardian of Mademoiselle Besançon—and—and—”
“Is it Mademoiselle Besançon’s wish that I go to Bringiers?”