Suddenly changing her manner, she eagerly inquired--

"When you last saw him, monsieur, you say he was struggling with the

ruffian who wounded you?"

"He was.--It was the last I saw of either. There is no hope--none--the

boat went down a few moments after. Poor Antoine! poor Antoine!"

Again she burst into tears, for she had evidently been weeping before.

I could offer no consolation. I did not attempt it. It was better she

should weep. Tears alone could relieve her.

"The coachman, Pierre, too--one of the most devoted of my people--he,

too, is lost. I grieve for him as well; but Antoine was my father's

friend--he was mine--Oh! the loss--the loss;--friendless; and yet,

perhaps, I _may soon need friends. Pauvre Antoine_!"

She wept as she uttered these phrases. Aurore was also in tears. I

could not restrain myself--the eyes of childhood returned, and I too

wept.

This solemn scene was at length brought to a termination by Eugenie, who

appearing suddenly to gain the mastery over her grief, approached the

bedside.

"Monsieur," said she, "I fear for some time you will find in me a sad

host. I cannot easily forget my friend, but I know you will pardon me

for thus indulging in a moment of sorrow. For the present, adieu! I

shall return soon, and see that you are properly waited upon. I have

lodged you in this little place, that you might be out of reach of

noises that would disturb you. Indeed I am to blame for this present

intrusion. The doctor has ordered you not to be visited, but--I--I

could not rest till I had seen the preserver of my life, and offered him

my thanks. Adieu, adieu! Come, Aurore!"

I was left alone, and lay reflecting upon the interview. It had

impressed me with a profound feeling of friendship for Eugenie

Besancon;--more than friendship--sympathy: for I could not resist the

belief that, somehow or other, she was in peril--that over that young

heart, late so light and gay, a cloud was gathering.

I felt for her regard, friendship, sympathy,--nothing more. And why

nothing more? Why did I not love her, young, rich, beautiful? Why?

Because I loved another--_I loved Aurore_!

The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West · 第 40 / 209 题