As soon as they were fairly past, and their backs towards me, my eyes
followed them. Oh, beautiful Aurore!--beautiful as ever!
I was not single in my admiration. The appearance of the Quadroon
created a sensation. The din ceased as if by a signal; every voice
became hushed, and every eye was bent upon her as she moved across the
floor. Men hurried forward from distant parts of the hall to get a
nearer glance; others made way for her, stepping politely back as if she
had been a queen. Men did this who would have scorned to offer
politeness to another of her race--to the "yellow girl" for instance,
who walked by her side! Oh, the power of beauty! Never was it more
markedly shown than in the _entree_ of that poor slave.
I heard the whispers, I observed the glances of admiration, of passion.
I marked the longing eyes that followed her, noting her splendid form
and its undulating outlines as she moved forward.
All this gave me pain. It was a feeling worse than mere jealousy I
experienced. It was jealousy embittered by the very brutality of my
rivals.
Aurore was simply attired. There was no affectation of the fine lady--
none of the ribbons and flounces that bedecked the dresses of her
darker-skinned companion. Such would have ill assorted with the noble
melancholy that appeared upon her beautiful countenance. None of all
this.
A robe of light-coloured muslin, tastefully made, with long skirt and
tight sleeves--as was the fashion of the time--a fashion that displayed
the pleasing rotundity of her figure. Her head-dress was that worn by
all quadroons--the "toque" of the Madras kerchief, which sat upon her
brow like a coronet, its green, crimson, and yellow checks contrasting
finely with the raven blackness of her hair. She wore no ornaments
excepting the broad gold rings that glittered against the rich glow of
her cheeks; and upon her finger one other circlet of gold--the token of
her betrothal. I knew it well.
I buried myself in the crowd, slouching my hat on that side towards the
rostrum. I desired she should not see me, while I could not help gazing
upon her. I had taken my stand in such a situation, that I could still
command a view of the entrance. More than ever was I anxious about the
coming of D'Hauteville.
Aurore had been placed near the foot of the rostrum. I could just see
the edge of her turban over the shoulders of the crowd. By elevating
myself on my toes, I could observe her face, which by chance was turned
towards me. Oh! how my heart heaved as I struggled to read its
expression--as I endeavoured to divine the subject of her thoughts!
She looked sad and anxious. That was natural enough. But I looked for
another expression--that unquiet anxiety produced by the alternation of
hope and fear.
Her eye wandered over the crowd. She scanned the sea of faces that
surrounded her. _She was searching for some one. Was it for me_?
I held down my face as her glance passed over the spot. I dared not
meet her gaze. I feared that I could not restrain myself from
addressing her. Sweet Aurore!
I again looked up. Her eye was still wandering in fruitless search--oh!
surely it is for me!
Again I cowered behind the crowd, and her glance was carried onward.
I raised myself once more. I saw the shadow darkening upon her face.
Her eye filled with a deeper expression--it was the look of despair.
"Courage! courage!" I whispered to myself. "Look again, lovely Aurore!
This time I shall meet you. I shall speak to you from mine eyes--I
shall give back glance for glance--"
"She sees--she recognises me! That start--the flash of joy in her
eyes--the smile curling upon her lips! Her glance wanders no more--her
gaze is fixed--proud heart! It _was_ for me!"
Yes, our eyes met at length--met, melting and swimming with love. Mine
had escaped from my control. For some moments I could not turn them
aside, but surrendered them to the impulse of my passion. It was
mutual. I doubted it not. I felt as though the ray of love-light was
passing between us. I had almost forgotten where I stood!
A murmur from the crowd, and a movement, restored me to my senses. Her
stedfast gaze had been noticed, and by many--skilled to interpret such
glances--had been understood. These, in turning round to see who was
the object of that glance, had caused the movement. I had observed it
in time, and turned my face in another direction.
I watched the entrance for D'Hauteville. Why had he not arrived? My
anxiety increased with the minutes.
True, it would still be an hour--perhaps two--before her time should
come.--Ha!--what?
There was silence for a moment--something of interest was going on. I
looked towards the rostrum for an explanation. A dark man had climbed
upon one of the steps, and was whispering to the auctioneer.
He remained but a moment. He appeared to have asked some favour, which
was at once conceded him, and he stepped back to his place among the
crowd.
A minute or two intervened, and then, to my horror and astonishment, I
saw the overseer take Aurore by the arm, and raise her upon the block!
The intention was plain. _She was to be sold next_!
In the moments that followed, I cannot remember exactly how I acted. I
ran wildly for the entrance. I looked out into the street. Up and down
I glanced with anxious eyes. No D'Hauteville!
I rushed back into the hall--again through the outer circles of the
crowd, in the direction of the rostrum.
The bidding had begun. I had not heard the preliminaries, but as I
re-entered there fell upon my ears the terrible words--
"_A thousand dollars for the Quadroon_.--_A thousand dollars bid_!"
"O Heaven! D'Hauteville has deceived me. She is lost!--lost!"
In my desperation I was about to interrupt the sale. I was about to
proclaim aloud its unfairness, in the fact that the Quadroon had been
_taken out of the order advertised_! Even on this poor plea I rested a
hope.
It was the straw to the drowning man, but I was determined to grasp it.
I had opened my lips to call out, when some one pulling me by the sleeve
caused me to turn round. It was D'Hauteville! Thank Heaven, it was
D'Hauteville!
I could scarce restrain myself from shouting with joy. His look told me
that he was the bearer of bright gold.
"In time, and none to spare," whispered he, thrusting a pocket-book
between my fingers; "there is three thousand dollars--that will surely
be enough; 'tis all I have been able to procure. I cannot stay here--
there are those I do not wish to see. I shall meet you after the sale
is over. Adieu!"