Aurora rose up with a majestic motion for the speaker to desist.

“If it is to mention the person of whom your allusion reminds me, that you have honored us with a call this evening, Monsieur—­”

Her eyes were flashing as he had seen them flash in front of the Place d’Armes.

“I beg you not to suspect me of meanness,” he answered, gently, and with a remonstrative smile.  “I have been trying all day, in a way unnecessary to explain, to be generous.”

“I suppose you are incapabl’,” said Aurora, following her double meaning with that combination of mischievous eyes and unsmiling face of which she was master.  She resumed her seat, adding:  “It is generous for you to admit that Palmyre has suffered wrongs.”

“It would be,” he replied, “to attempt to repair them, seeing that I am not responsible for them, but this I cannot claim yet to have done.  I have asked of you, Madam, a generous act.  I might ask another of you both jointly.  It is to permit me to say without offence, that there is one man, at least, of the name of Grandissime who views with regret and mortification the yet deeper wrongs which you are even now suffering.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Aurora, inwardly ready for fierce tears, but with no outward betrayal save a trifle too much grace and an over-bright smile, “Monsieur is much mistaken; we are quite comfortable and happy, wanting nothing, eh, Clotilde?—­not even our rights, ha, ha!”

She rose and let Alphonsina in.  The bundle was still in the negress’s arms.  She passed through the room and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh! no, sir, not at all,” repeated Aurora, as she once more sat down.

“You ought to want your rights,” said M. Grandissime.  “You ought to have them.”

“You think so?”

Aurora was really finding it hard to conceal her growing excitement, and turned, with a faint hope of relief, toward Clotilde.

Clotilde, looking only at their visitor, but feeling her mother’s glance, with a tremulous and half-choked voice, said eagerly: 

“Then why do you not give them to us?”

“Ah!” interposed Aurora, “we shall get them to-morrow, when the sheriff comes.”

And, thereupon what did Clotilde do but sit bolt upright, with her hands in her lap, and let the tears roll, tear after tear, down her cheeks.

“Yes, Monsieur,” said Aurora, smiling still, “those that you see are really tears.  Ha, ha, ha! excuse me, I really have to laugh; for I just happened to remember our meeting at the masked ball last September.  We had such a pleasant evening and were so much indebted to you for our enjoyment,—­particularly myself,—­little thinking, you know, that you were one of that great family which believes we ought to have our rights, you know.  There are many people who ought to have their rights.  There was Bras-Coupe; indeed, he got them—­found them in the swamp.  Maybe Clotilde and I shall