Hurricane," replies the young woman, dropping her eyes
with a hypocritical air. "I only meant to signify that I find your news
very astonishing. It appears that my reputation has reached Europe."

"Do not be so vain, my dear. It was on board the Unicorn that this
worthy paladin heard you spoken of, and by the mere mention of your
riches he has become enamored, yes, madly enamored of you. This, I
trust, will take down your pride."

"The impertinent fellow! and who is this man, James?"

"The Chevalier de Croustillac."

"Who?"

"The Chevalier de Croustillac."

"This is the name of the pretender to my hand?" And Angela breaks into a
merry peal of laughter which nothing can arrest, and the mulatto finally
joins in her merriment.

The two have scarcely subsided when Mirette enters preceded by two other
mulattresses who carry a table sumptuously set out in gilded dishes. The
two slaves place the table near the divan; the captain arises to take a
chair, while Angela, kneeling on the edge of the sofa, uncovers the
dishes one after another, and examines the table with the air of an
epicurean kitten.

"Are you hungry, James? As for me, I am famished," says Angela. And as
if to prove without doubt this assertion, she opens her coral lips and
shows two rows of ravishing little pearly teeth which she clinches
twice.

"Angela, my dear, you were certainly badly brought up," said the
captain, helping her to a portion of dorado, served with ham and an
appetizing sauce.

"Captain Hurricane, if I receive you at my table, it is not that you may
scold," said Angela, making an almost imperceptible grimace to the
mulattress. Then she continues, attacking her fish bravely, and pecking
at her bread like a bird, "If he scolds me, Mirette, I will not receive
him again?"

"No, mistress," said Mirette.

"And I will give his place to Rend-your-soul, the buccaneer?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Or to Youmaeale, the cannibal?"

"Yes, mistress."

"You hear that, sir?" said Angela.

"Never mind, my dear, I am not jealous, you know that; beauty is as the
sun, it shines for all the world."

"Because you are not jealous, then, I will pardon you. Help yourself to
what is before you. What is that, Mirette?"

"Madame, the roe of fish fried in pigeon's fat."

"Which is not equal to the fat of quail," says the captain, "but it must
have the juice of a lemon while it is warm."

"See what a glutton! Ah! but my future spouse, I had forgotten hi