--"Oui! mo va donnin toi ca si to di moin to laut nom."
The splendid bribe evidently impressed her greatly; for tears rose to
the brown eyes as she answered:
--"Mo pas capab di' ca;--mo pas capab di' laut nom ... Mo oule; mo pas
capab!"
Laroussel explained. The child's name was Lili,--perhaps a contraction
of Eulalie; and her pet Creole name Zouzoune. He thought she must be
the daughter of wealthy people; but she could not, for some reason or
other, tell her family name. Perhaps she could not pronounce it well,
and was afraid of being laughed at: some of the old French names were
very hard for Creole children to pronounce, so long as the little ones
were indulged in the habit of talking the patois; and after a certain
age their mispronunciations would be made fun of in order to accustom
them to abandon the idiom of the slave-nurses, and to speak only
French. Perhaps, again, she was really unable to recall the name:
certain memories might have been blurred in the delicate brain by the
shock of that terrible night. She said her mother's name was Adele,
and her father's Julien; but these were very common names in
Louisiana,--and could afford scarcely any better clew than the innocent
statement that her mother used to address her father as "dear"
(Cheri),--or with the Creole diminutive "little papa" (Papoute). Then
Laroussel tried to reach a clew in other ways, without success. He
asked her about where she lived,--what the place was like; and she told
him about fig-trees in a court, and galleries, and banquettes, and
spoke of a faubou',--without being able to name any street. He asked
her what her father used to do, and was assured that he did
everything--that there was nothing he could not do. Divine absurdity
of childish faith!--infinite artlessness of childish love! ... Probably
the little girl's parents had been residents of New Orleans--dwellers
of the old colonial quarter,--the faubourg, the faubou'.
--"Well, gentlemen," said Captain Harris, as Laroussel abandoned his
cross-examination in despair,--"all we can do now is to make inquiries.
I suppose we'd better leave the child here. She is very weak yet, and
in no condition to be taken to the city, right in the middle of the hot
season; and nobody could care for her any better than she's being cared
for here. Then, again, seems to me that as Feliu saved her life,--and
that at the risk of his own,--he's got the prior claim, anyhow; and his
wife is just crazy about the child--wants to adopt her. If we can find
her relatives so much the better; but I say, gentlemen, let them come
right here to Feliu, themselves, and thank him as he ought to be
thanked, by God! That's just what I think about it."
Carmen understood the little speech;--all the Spanish charm of her
youth had faded out years before; but in the one swift look of
gratitude she turned upon the captain, it seemed to blossom again;--for
that quick moment, she was beautiful.
"The captain is quite right," observed Dr. Hecker: "it would be very
dangerous to take the child away just now." There was no dissent.
--"All correct, boys?" asked the captain ... "Well, we've got to be
going. By-by, Zouzoune!"
But Zouzoune burst into tears. Laroussel was going too!
--"Give her the thing, Laroussel! she gave you a kiss, anyhow--more
than she'd do for me," cried the captain.
Laroussel turned, detached the little compass from his watch chain, and
gave it to her. She held up her pretty face for his farewell kiss ...