Nothing more was known by the blacks until many days after, when Rondeau returned home, and related the whole story with many embellishments.  He omitted to tell of the whipping which Ike had given him, but spoke with unqualified contempt of the old house and everything belonging to it, except Miss Fanny, who, he said, “Looked just like an angel, only a heap better.”

“You ought to have seen her,” said he, “that night when every thing was t’other side up; folks a yellin’ like they was crazy, and one man was stark mad.  Miss Julia lay on the floor, the blood pourin’ out of her eyes and mouth by pails full; Miss Florence, she fainted, and they had to throw her out the window, glass and all, because there was so many low, ill-mannered niggers crowded in the hall.”

“I s’pose you’s one of the niggers?” said Aunt Dilsey.

“Why, yes,” returned Rondeau; “but then I was helpin’ and was tryin’ to push them all back so I could get to marster, who was feelin’ so bad that they sent for me, because nobody else could comfort him.”

Here Rondeau began to fumble in his pocket, as if in search of something.  Having found it, he continued, “Marster got hold of her hand and grabbed off her wedding ring so quick that it broke her finger.  Then he threw it from him and I picked it up.  Here ’tis,” said he, holding up a ring.

“That’s a likely story,” interrupted Aunt Dilsey “If they wasn’t married, how came the ring on her finger?”

Rondeau saw he had stretched a trifle too much, but he answered, “Well, anyhow, he throwed it away, and I’m goin’ to keep it till—­till, you know when, Dilsey.”

“Keep it till you’re gray,” said Aunt Dilsey.  “Leffie ain’t goin’ to be married with no such flummery.”

Here Leffie, anxious to change the conversation, asked, “What of Miss Fanny?”

“Why, yes,” answered Rondeau, “that’s what I’m going to tell.  Right in the middle of the fuss I heard something moving softly down the stairs, and I saw a thing all as white as snow.  Her hair, which was about the color of Leffie’s neck—­real handsome—­was hanging in long curls down her back.  I thought it was an angel, and kinder touched her as she passed, to see if she had wings.  But the niggers said, ‘It’s Miss Fanny,’ and next I heard ‘twas all as still in the room, and marster was huggin’ and kissin’ her and cryin’ over her.  Then, when I tried to get nearer and see more, they crowded me into such a little spot that I didn’t breathe again for a week.”

“Why didn’t you get out of the crowd then?” asked Dilsey.

“How could I?” answered Rondeau.  “Lord, Dilsey, I’d like to have seen you there; but then there wouldn’t have been room for anybody else, for the hall wouldn’t more than hold you.”

Here the conversation ended, but for a long time Rondeau carried on his arm the marks of Aunt Dilsey’s finger and thumb.

CHAPTER XXIII