The remainder of the day I was occupied in searching for Aurore. I
could learn nothing of her--not even whether she had yet reached the
city!
In search of her I went to the quarters where the others had their
temporary lodgment. She was not these. She had either not yet arrived,
or was kept at some other place. They had not seen her! They knew
nothing about her.
Disappointed and wearied with running through the hot and dusty streets,
I returned to the hotel.
I waited for night. I waited for the coming of Eugene d'Hauteville, for
such was the name of my new acquaintance.
I was strangely interested in this young man. Our short interview had
inspired me with a singular confidence in him. He had given proof of a
friendly design towards me; and still more had impressed me with a high
idea of his knowledge of the world. Young as he was, I could not help
fancying him a being possessed of some mysterious power. I could not
help thinking that in some way he might aid me. There was nothing
remarkable in his being so young and still _au-fait_ to all the
mysteries of life. Precocity is the privilege of the American,
especially the native of New Orleans. A Creole at fifteen is a man.
I felt satisfied that D'Hauteville--about my own age--knew far more of
the world than I, who had been half my life cloistered within the walls
of an antique university.