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 now; it is too late.  You would find that your landlord had gone to dinner.  I will tell you, though, where you must go.  First go home; eat your dinner; and this evening [the Creoles never say afternoon], about a half-hour before sunset, walk down Royale to the lower corner of the Place d’Armes, pass entirely around the square and return up Royale.  Never look behind until you get into your house again.”

Aurora blushed with shame.

“Alone?” she exclaimed, quite unnerved and tremulous.

“You will seem to be alone; but I will follow behind you when you pass here.  Nothing shall hurt you.  If you do that, the charm will certainly work; if you do not—­”

The quadroon’s intentions were good.  She was determined to see who it was that could so infatuate her dear little Momselle; and, as on such an evening as the present afternoon promised to merge into all New Orleans promenaded on the Place d’Armes and the levee, her charm was a very practical one.

“And that will bring the money, will it?” asked Aurora.

“It will bring anything you want.”

“Possible?”

“These things that you want, Momselle Aurore, are easy to bring.  You have no charms working against you.  But, oh, I wish to God I could work the curse I want to work!” The woman’s eyes blazed, her bosom heaved, she lifted her clenched hand above her head and looked upward, crying:  “I would give this right hand off at the wrist to catch Agricola Fusilier where I could work him a curse!  But I shall; I shall some day be revenged!” She pitched her voice still higher.  “I cannot die till I have been!  There is nothing that could kill me, I want my revenge so bad!” As suddenly as she had broken out, she hushed, unbarred the door, and with a stern farewell smile saw Aurora turn homeward.

“Give me something to eat, cherie,” cried the exhausted lady, dropping into Clotilde’s chair and trying to die.

“Ah! maman, what makes you look so sick?”

Aurora waved her hand contemptuously and gasped.

“Did you see him?  What kept you so long—­so long?”

“Ask me nothing; I am so enraged with disappointment.  He was gone to dinner!”

“Ah! my poor mother!”

“And I must go back as soon as I can take a little sieste.  I am determined to see him this very day.”