n
going up to the muzzle of an antagonist's pistol!

The long yearning for such an opportunity--the well-known difficulty of
obtaining it--the anticipation of that sweetest pleasure on earth--the
pleasure of being alone with her I loved--all blended in my thoughts.
No wonder they were wild and somewhat bewildered.

I should now meet Aurore face to face alone, with but Love's god as a
witness. I should speak unrestrainedly and free. I should hear _her_
voice, listen to the soft confession that she loved me. I should fold
her in my arms--against my bosom! I should drink love from her swimming
eyes, taste it on her crimson cheek, her coral lips! Oh, I should speak
love, and hear it spoken! I should listen to its delirious ravings!

A heaven of happiness was before me. No wonder my thoughts were wild--
no wonder I vainly strove to calm them.

I reached the house, and mounted the two or three steps that led up into
the verandah. The latter was carpeted with a mat of sea-grass, and my
_chaussure_ was light, so that my tread was as silent as that of a girl.
It could scarce have been heard within the chamber whose windows I was
passing.

I proceeded on toward the drawing-room, which opened to the front by two
of the large door-windows already mentioned. I turned the angle, and
the next moment would have passed the first of these windows, had a
sound not reached me that caused me to arrest my steps. The sound was a
voice that came from the drawing-room, whose windows stood open. I
listened--it was the voice of Aurore!

"In conversation with some one! with whom? Perhaps little Chloe? her
mother? some one of the domestics?"

I listened.

"By Heaven! it is the voice of a man! Who can he be? Scipio? No;
Scipio cannot yet have left the stable. It cannot be he. Some other of
the plantation people? Jules, the wood-chopper? the errand-boy,
Baptiste? Ha! it is not a negro's voice. No, it is the voice of a
white man! the overseer?"

As this idea came into my head, a pang at the same time shot through my
heart--a pang, not of jealousy, but something like it. I was angry at
_him_ rather than jealous with _her_. As yet I had heard nothing to
make me jealous. His being present with her, and in conversation, was
no cause.

"So, my bold nigger-driver," thought I, "you have got over your
predilection for the little Chloe. Not to be wondered at! Who would
waste time gazing at stars when there is such a moon i