“Ou est Monsieur?”

“Monsieur dort.”

“Ah! qu’il est heureux.  Et Cupidon—­ou est-il?”

“II est ici, au coin, madame.  Il boude.”

“Qu’est-ce qu’il a fait donc?”

“Ah, madame!  Il a vole le dindon roti, et l’a tout mange.”

“Ah, le petit polisson!  Venez ici, Cupidon.”

Cupidon, the little negro-boy we have before mentioned as sitting in the corner of the room, walked up with a very deliberate pace to the side of the ottoman, his two thick lips sticking out about six inches in advance of the remainder of his person.

“Cupidon,” said the lady, turning a little on one side to speak to him, “tu as mange le dindon entier.  Tu as mal fait, mon ami.  Tu seras malade.  Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c’est une sottise que tu as fait?”

Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little further out.

“Sache que tu es un petite voleur!” continued his mistress.

Cupidon did not condescend to answer.

“Allez, monsieur; ne m’approchez pas.”

Cupidon turned short round without reply, and walked back to his corner with the same deliberate pace as before, when he came out of it.

Charlotte now returned with the lemonade for which she had been despatched, and informed her mistress as she presented it, that Nicholas, who had charge of the schooner, had returned with an European prisoner; but that neither he nor Gustave would give her any further information, although she had requested it in the name of her mistress.  This was quite an event, and gave a fillip to the inertness of Madame de Fontanges, whose curiosity was excited.

“A-t-il bonne mine, Charlotte?”

“Oui, madame, c’est un bel homme.”

“Et ou est-il?”

“Avec Nicholas.”

“Et Monsieur?”

“Monsieur dort.”

“Il faut l’eveiller.  Faites bien mes compliments au Monsieur de Fontanges, et dites-lui que je me trouve fort malade, et que je voudrais lui parier.  Entends-tu, Celeste; je parle a toi.”

“Oui, madame,” replied the girl, throwing some orange flowers off her lap, and rising to deliver her message.

M. de Fontanges, who, like most of the Europeans, slept through the hottest portion of the day, rose in compliance with his wife’s message, and made his appearance in the boudoir, dressed in a white cotton jacket and trousers.  A few polite inquiries after the health of Madame de Fontanges, which, as he had conjectured from similar previous occurrences, was not worse than usual, were followed by his receiving from her the information of Newton’s arrival, coupled with an observation, that it would amuse her if the prisoner were interrogated in her presence.

Newton was summoned to the boudoir, where M. de Fontanges, who spoke very good English, received from him the history of his disasters, and translated them into French, to gratify the curiosity of his wife.