l more
significantly. He had evidently some strange suspicions about this
individual, though he was unwilling, just then, to declare them.

I learnt enough to identify Monsieur Dominique Gayarre with my _avocat_
of the Rue --, New Orleans. No doubt remained on my mind that it was
the same. A lawyer by profession, but more of a speculator in stocks--a
money-lender, in other words, usurer. In the country a planter, owning
the plantation adjoining that of Besancon, with more than a hundred
slaves, whom he treats with the utmost severity. All this is in
correspondence with the calling and character of my Monsieur Dominique.
They are the same.

Scipio gives me some additional details of him. He was the law adviser
and the companion of Monsieur Besancon--Scipio says, "Too often for ole
mass'r's good," and believes that the latter suffered much from his
acquaintance: or, as Scipio phrases it, "Mass'r Gayarre humbug ole
mass'r; he cheat 'im many an many a time, I'se certain."

Furthermore, I learn from my attendant, that Gayarre resides upon his
plantation during the summer months; that he is a daily visitor at the
"big house"--the residence of Mademoiselle Besancon--where he makes
himself quite at home; acting, says Scipio, "as ef de place 'longed to
him, and he war de boss ob de plantation."

I fancied Scipio knew something more about this man--some definite
matter that he did not like to talk about. It was natural enough,
considering our recent acquaintance. I could see that he had a strong
dislike towards Gayarre. Did he found it on some actual knowledge of
the latter, or was it instinct--a principle strongly developed in these
poor slaves, who are not permitted to _reason_?

His information, however, comprised too many facts to be the product of
mere instinct: it savoured of actual knowledge. He must have learnt
these things from some quarter. Where could he have gathered them?

"Who told you all this, Scipio?"

"Aurore, mass'r."

"Aurore!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

MONSIEUR DOMINIQUE GAYARRE.

I felt a sudden desire, amounting almost to anxiety, to learn who was
"Aurore." Why? Was it the singularity and beauty of the name,--for
novel and beautiful it sounded in my Saxon ears? No. Was it the mere
euphony of the word; its mythic associations; its less ideal application
to the rosy hours of the Orient, or the shining phosphorescence of the
North? Was it any of these associate thoughts that awoke wi