almyre, "you must get your rent money." But the charm which
she was meditating had no reference to rent money. "She knows that,"
thought the voudou.

As she rose and called her Congo slave-woman, Aurora made as if to
protest further; but utterance failed her. She clenched her hands and
prayed to fate for Clotilde to come and lead her away as she had done at
the apothecary's. And well she might.

The articles brought in by the servant were simply a little pound-cake
and cordial, a tumbler half-filled with the _sirop naturelle_ of the
sugar-cane, and a small piece of candle of the kind made from the
fragrant green wax of the candleberry myrtle. These were set upon the
small table, the bit of candle standing, lighted, in the tumbler of
sirup, the cake on a plate, the cordial in a wine-glass. This feeble
child's play was all; except that as Palmyre closed out all daylight
from the room and received the offering of silver that "paid the floor"
and averted _guillons_ (interferences of outside imps), Aurora,--alas!
alas!--went down upon her knees with her gaze fixed upon the candle's
flame, and silently called on Assonquer (the imp of good fortune) to
cast his snare in her behalf around the mind and heart of--she knew
not whom.

By and by her lips, which had moved at first, were still and she only
watched the burning wax. When the flame rose clear and long it was a
sign that Assonquer was enlisted in the coveted endeavor. When the wick
sputtered, the devotee trembled in fear of failure. Its charred end
curled down and twisted away from her and her heart sank; but the tall
figure of Palmyre for a moment came between, the wick was snuffed, the
flame tapered up again, and for a long time burned, a bright, tremulous
cone. Again the wick turned down, but this time toward her,--a
propitious omen,--and suddenly fell through the expended wax and went
out in the sirup.

The daylight, as Palmyre let it once more into the apartment, showed
Aurora sadly agitated. In evidence of the innocence of her fluttering
heart, guilt, at least for the moment, lay on it, an appalling burden.

"That is all, Palmyre, is it not? I am sure that is all--it must be all.
I cannot stay any longer. I wish I was with Clotilde; I have stayed
too long."

"Yes; all for the present," replied the quadroon. "Here, here is some
charmed basil; hold it between your lips as you walk--"

"But I am going to my landlord's office!"

"Office? Nobody is at his office