“No, mass’r; she gone out by harseff. ’Rore, she ’tay at home.”
If the negro had been observant he might have noticed the effect of this announcement upon me, for I am sure it must have been sufficiently apparent. I felt it in the instant upheaving of my heart, and the flushing that suddenly fevered my cheeks.
“Aurore at home, and alone!”
It was the first time during all the course of my wooing that such a “chance” had offered; and I almost gave expression to my agreeable surprise.
Fortunately I did not; for even the faithful Scipio was not to be trusted with such a secret.
With an effort I collected myself, and tamed down my horse, now chafing to continue his gallop. In doing so his head was turned in the direction of the village. Scipio thought I was going to ride back.
“Sure mass’r not go till he rest a bit? Missa ’Génie not home, but dar am ’Rore. ’Rore get mass’r glass ob claret; Ole Zip make um sangaree. Day berry, berry hot. Wugh!”
“You are about right, Scipio,” I replied, pretending to yield to his persuasion. “Take my horse round to the stable. I shall rest a few minutes.”
I dismounted, and, passing the bridle to Scipio, stepped inside the gate.
It was about a hundred paces to the house, by the direct walk that led from the gate to the front door. But there were two other paths, that wound around the sides of the shrubbery, through copses of low trees—laurels, myrtles, and oranges. A person approaching by either of these could not be seen from the house until close to the very windows. From each of these paths the low verandah could be reached without going by the front. There were steps leading into it—into the interior of the house as well—for the windows that fronted upon the verandah were, after the Creole fashion, glass folding-doors, that opened to the bottom, so that the floors of the rooms and verandah-platform were upon the same level.