Offdean rose early, wishing to take the morning train to the city. But
he was not before Euphrasie, whom he found in the large hall arranging
the breakfast-table. Old Pierre was there too, walking slowly about
with hands folded behind him, and with bowed head.
A restraint hung upon all of them, and the girl turned to her father
and asked him if Placide were up, seemingly for want of something to
say. The old man fell heavily into a chair, and gazed upon her in the
deepest distress.
"Oh, my po' li'le Euphrasie! my po' li'le chile! Mr. Offde'n, you ain't
no stranger."
"_Bon Dieu_! Papa!" cried the girl sharply, seized with a vague
terror. She quitted her occupation at the table, and stood in nervous
apprehension of what might follow.
"I yaired people say Placide was one no-'count creole. I nevair want
to believe dat, me. Now I know dat's true. Mr. Offde'n, you ain't no
stranger, you."
Offdean was gazing upon the old man in amazement.
"In de night," Pierre continued, "I yaired some noise on de winder. I
go open, an' dere Placide, standin' wid his big boot' on, an' his w'ip
w'at he knocked wid on de winder, an' his hoss all saddle'. Oh, my po'
li'le chile! He say, 'Pierre, I yaired say Mr. Luke William' want his
house pent down in Orville. I reckon I go git de job befo' somebody
else teck it.' I say, 'You come straight back, Placide? 'He say, 'Don'
look fer me.' An' w'en I ax 'im w'at I goin' tell to my li'le chile, he
say, 'Tell Euphrasie Placide know better 'an anybody livin' w'at goin'
make her happy.' An' he start 'way; den he come back an' say, 'Tell
dat man '--I don' know who he was talk' 'bout--k tell 'im he ain't
goin' learn nuttin' to a creole.' _Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_ I don' know
w'at all dat mean."
He was holding the half-fainting Euphrasie in his arms, and stroking
her hair.
"I always yaired say he was one no-'count creole. I nevair want to
believe dat."
"Don't--don't say that again, papa," she whisperingly entreated,
speaking in French. "Placide has saved me!"
"He has save' you f'om w'at, Euphrasie?" asked her father, in dazed
astonishment.
"From sin," she replied to him under her breath.
"I don' know w'at all dat mean," the old man muttered, bewildered, as
he arose and walked out on the gallery.
Offdean had taken coffee in his room, and would not wait for breakfast.
When he went to bid Euphrasie good-by, she sat beside the table with
her head bowed upon her arm.
He took her hand and said good-by to her, but she did not look up.
"Euphrasie," he asked eagerly, "I may come back? Say that I may--after
a while."
She gave him no answer, and he leaned down and pressed his cheek
caressingly and entreatingly against her soft thick hair.
"May I, Euphrasie?" he begged. "So long as you do not tell me no, I
shall come back, dearest one."
She still made him no reply, but she did not tell him no.
So he kissed her hand and her cheek,--what he could touch of it, that
peeped out from her folded arm,--and went away.
An hour later, when Offdean passed through Natchitoches, the old town
was already ringing with the startling news that Placide had been
dismissed by his _fiancée_, and the wedding was off, information which
the young creole was taking the trouble to scatter broadcast as he
went.