PAUL LISIMON.
Twenty years before the period of which we are writing, a certain
wealthy Spaniard, calling himself Juan Moraquitos, came to New Orleans
and took up his abode in a superb villa residence, sufficiently removed
from the din and bustle of the city, and yet commanding a view of the
wide sweep of waters, and the dense forest of masts that thronged the
levee.
He brought many slaves, and a young wife, a pale Spanish beauty.
Within six months of the arrival of Don Juan Moraquitos at New Orleans,
his wife died, leaving little Camillia--an only daughter.
An old female slave whispered strange stories of the past.
For six years the father scarce noticed the babe, who reminded him of
his wife.
He had a small estate on the banks of the Mississippi. It was a little
paradise.
Here, under care of two women, the infant was placed. The slave Pepita,
who had nursed Olympia, the mother of Camillia, in her childhood, and
had attained her in her death hour; and another female slave called
Zarah, a woman whose husband had been sold to a merchant of Florida,
but who had been allowed to keep her son with her. He was an active
negro boy of about six years old. These two women, with a couple of
stout negro slaves, who worked in the gardens, composed the entire
establishment of the baby heiress.
Time passed; the rosy lips began to form half-inarticulate murmurs,
then gentle and loving words. The baby learned to speak her nurse's
name, to prattle with the negro lad--Zarah's son.
Pepita, the infant's foster-mother, loved the child with devotion.
Zarah attended to the household work and waited on the nurse and her
foster-child.
As the baby, Camillia, grew into a laughing girl, the young negro loved
to amuse the little heiress by indulging in all kinds of rough and
impish gambols for her gratification.
Pepita often let Tristan, the negro boy, to watch the slumbering child.
It was six years after the death of Olympia when the stern father's
heart first relented to his orphan child.
He would see her!
Even though the spirit of his lost Olympia seemed to rise from the
grave, and gaze at him, out of the eyes of Camillia. The little girl
was asleep upon a grassy bank.
She awoke at the sound of the Spaniard's footstep, and uttered, a
little scream of terror.
The loneliness of her life had made the child timid.
"You are not frightened of me, are you, Camillia?"
"No."
"Yet you screamed when I first saw you! A strange welcome for your
father, Camillia."
"Father? Are you my father?"
"Yes, my Camillia, will you love me?"
"I will try," answered the child, quietly.
Don Juan clasped his child to his breast.
"I have a playfellow here," said the child, pointing to the young negro.
"Tristan is no fit playfellow for my little Camillia. Tristan is a
slave."
The young negro heard every word.
"A slave!" he muttered, as Don Juan led the child toward the house. "A
slave! Yes, I have been told that often enough!"
A week after this, Camillia, the nurse, Pepita, Zarah, and the boy
Tristan were removed to the Villa Moraquitos, in the suburbs of New
Orleans.
Camillia was now under the care of a governess, a Frenchwoman,
Mademoiselle Pauline Corsi. This lady took no pleasure in the antics of
Tristan--so he seldom saw Camillia.
It was in the depth of the brief winter when the brother-in-law of Don
Juan Moraquitos arrived at the villa.
He was the only surviving relative of the Spaniard's dead wife, her
older brother, dearly beloved by her, but he who had forced upon her
the marriage with his friend, Don Juan. His name was Tomaso Crivelli.
He had come from Mexico on a tour through the United States, and had
arrived at New Orleans--to die.
Yes; the hand of death was upon him!
Three days after he expired in the arms of his brother-in-law.
Half an hour before he died he became conscious, and implored Don Juan
to send for an attorney. It was necessary that he should make a will.
The attorney sent for by the Spaniard was no other than Silas Craig.
On the reading of the will it was found that Don Tomaso had left his
entire fortune to his brother-in-law, Don Juan. But Don Tomaso had not
come to the villa alone. He had brought a boy--about eight years of
age. He was named Paul.
This Paul was a handsome boy. None knew whence he came, or who he was.
Camillia was the only one from whom he would take comfort.
"My child, come hither," said the Spaniard, one day, addressing Paul.
"Tell me your proper name--besides Paul!"
"They call me Paul Lisimon."
"Lisimon it shall be."
"Do you remember your mother?"
"She died when I was a baby, and I always lived with my father, Don
Tomaso."
"Do not fear, my child, your future will be my care," and Paul Lisimon
was brought up in the household of the Spaniard, Camillia and Paul
taking lessons side by side from Mademoiselle Pauline Corsi.
* * * * *
Bill Bowen was at the house of Silas Craig precisely at six o'clock.
After dinner Silas and the visitor retired to the lawyer's private
office.
"Now we are alone. Mr. Bowen, what want you?"
"A thousand dollars."
"I gave you a thousand--"
"The day after Leslie's partner, Philip Treverton, died!"
"Come, come, Bowen, don't excite yourself," said Silas, "You shall have
the money."
"Listen to what people say of Mr. Treverton's death; he lost heavily
at play; he could not pay up; he was insulted by a stranger, and
stabbed in a kind of duel. The murderer's party carrying off the body.
A fortnight afterward the body was found in the Mississippi; the face
could not be recognized, but from papers found in the pocket, the
corpse was known to be that of Treverton--it was therefore buried in
the Treverton vault. The police failed to discover the murderer. On
Gerald Leslie's return from Europe, he examined the papers of his late
partner--which had been sealed up. That for which Leslie looked most
anxiously was a certain document, the receipt for one hundred thousand
dollars, paid to Mr. Silas Craig, attorney and money lender. He did not
find it!"
"You shall have the money, William!"
"I ain't in no hurry," replied Bowen. "Now I want to take a squint at
whatever lies behind yonder map." Silas suppressed a half-muttered
oath; but reluctantly touched a spring. A door flew back. They entered
a long, narrow passage. At its end was a window having a view of a
large gambling saloon!