I echoed the unexpected word, scarcely capable of believing the testimony of my own ears. Yet as I did so my heart almost ceased its throbbing, while I felt the hot blood rush to my face. That was an age of social gallantry; yet I was no gay courtier of the town, but a hunter of the woods, attired in rough habiliments, little fitted to attract the attention of womanly eyes amid the military glitter all about.
A lady! In the name of all the gods, what lady? Even in the old days I enjoyed but a limited circle of acquaintance among women. Indeed, I recalled only one in all the wide province of Louisiana who might justly be accorded so high an appellation even by a negro slave, and certainly she knew nothing of my presence in New Orleans, nor would she dream of sending for me if she did. Convinced of this, I dismissed the thought upon the instant, with a smile. The black must have made a mistake, or else some old-time acquaintance of our family, a forgotten friend of my mother perhaps, had chanced to hear of my return. Meanwhile the negro stood gazing at me with open mouth, and the sight of him partially restored my presence of mind.
"Is she English, boy?"
"No, sah, she am a French lady, sah, if ebber dar was one in dis hyar province. She libs ober yonder in de Rue Dumaine, an' she said to me, 'Yah, Alphonse, you follow dat dar young feller wid de long rifle under his arm an' de coon-skin cap, an' fotch him hyar to me!' Dem am de bery words wat she done said, sah, when you went by our house a half-hour ago."
"Is your mistress young or old?"
The black chuckled, his round face assuming a good-natured grin.
"Fo' de Lawd, Massa, but dat am jest de way wid all you white folks!" he ejaculated. "If she was ol', an' wrinkled, an' fat, den dat settle de whole ting. Jest don't want to know no mor'."
"Well," I interrupted impatiently, "keep your moralizing to yourself until we become better acquainted, and answer my question—Is the woman young?"
My tone was sufficiently stern to sober him, his black face straightening out as if it had been ironed.
"Now, don't you go an' git cross, Massa Benteen, case a laugh don't nebber do nobody no hurt," he cried, shrinking back as if expecting a blow. "But dat's jest wat she am, sah, an' a heap sweeter dan de vi'lets in de springtime, sah."