CHAPTER XIV
BEFORE SUNSET
In old times, most of the sidewalks of New Orleans not in the heart oftown were only a rough, rank turf, lined on the side next the ditch withthe gunwales of broken-up flatboats--ugly, narrow, slippery objects. AsAurora--it sounds so much pleasanter to anglicize her name--as Auroragained a corner where two of these gunwales met, she stopped and lookedback to make sure that Clotilde was not watching her. That others hadnoticed her here and there she did not care; that was something beautywould have to endure, and it only made her smile to herself.
"Everybody sees I am from the country--walking on the street without awaiting-maid."
A boy passed, hushing his whistle, and gazing at the lone lady until histurning neck could twist no farther. She was so dewy fresh! After he hadgot across the street he turned to look again. Where could she havedisappeared?
The only object to be seen on the corner from which she had vanished wasa small, yellow-washed house much like the one Aurora occupied, as itwas like hundreds that then characterized and still characterize thetown, only that now they are of brick instead of adobe. They showed inthose days, even more than now, the wide contrast between their homelyexteriors and the often elegant apartments within. However, in thishouse the front room was merely neat. The furniture was of rude, heavypattern, Creole-made, and the walls were unadorned; the day of cheappictures had not come. The lofty bedstead which filled one corner wasspread and hung with a blue stuff showing through a web of whiteneedlework. The brazen feet of the chairs were brightly burnished, aswere the brass mountings of the bedstead and the brass globes on thecold andirons. Curtains of blue and white hung at the single window. Thefloor, from habitual scrubbing with the common weed which politenesshas to call _Helenium autumnale_, was stained a bright, clean yellow.On it were, here and there in places, white mats woven of bleachedpalmetto-leaf. Such were the room's appointments; there was but onething more, a singular bit of fantastic carving,--a small table of darkmahogany supported on the upward-writhing images of threescaly serpents.
Aurora sat down beside this table. A dwarf Congo woman, as black assoot, had ushered her in, and, having barred the door, had disappeared,and now the mistress of the house entered.
February though it was, she was dressed--and looked comfortable--inwhite. That barbaric beauty which had begun to bud twenty years beforewas now in perfect bloom. The united grace and pride of her movement wasinspiring but--what shall we say?--feline? It was a femininity withouthumanity,--something that made her, with all her superbness, a creaturethat one would want to find chained. It was the woman who had receivedthe gold from Frowenfeld--Palmyre Philosophe.
The moment her eyes fell upon Aurora her whole appearance changed. Agirlish smile lighted up her face, and as Aurora rose up reflecting itback, they simultaneously clapped hands, laughed and advanced joyouslytoward each other, talking rapidly without regard to each other's words.
"Sit down," said Palmyre, in the plantation French of their childhood,as they shook hands.
They took chairs and drew up face to face as close as they could come,then sighed and smiled a moment, and then looked grave and were silent.For in the nature of things, and notwithstanding the amusing familiaritycommon between Creole ladies and the menial class, the unprotectedlittle widow should have had a very serious errand to bring her to thevoudou's house.
"Palmyre," began the lady, in a sad tone.
"Momselle Aurore."
"I want you to help me." The former mistress not only cast her handsinto her lap, lifted her eyes supplicatingly and dropped them again, butactually locked her fingers to keep them from trembling.
"Momselle Aurore--" began Palmyre, solemnly.
"Now, I know what you are going to say--but it is of no use to say it;do this much for me this one time and then I will let voudou alone asmuch as you wish--forever!"
"You have not lost your purse _again?_"
"Ah! foolishness, no."
Both laughed a little, the philosophe feebly, and Aurora with an excitedtremor.
"Well?" demanded the quadroon, looking grave again.
Aurora did not answer.
"Do you wish me to work a spell for you?"
The widow nodded, with her eyes cast down.
Both sat quite still for some time; then the philosophe gently drew thelandlord's letter from between Aurora's hands.
"What is this?" She could not read in any language.
"I must pay my rent within nineteen days."
"Have you not paid it?"
The delinquent shook her head.
"Where is the gold that came into your purse? All gone?"
"For rice and potatoes," said Aurora, and for the first time she uttereda genuine laugh, under that condition of mind which Latins usuallysubstitute for fortitude. Palmyre laughed too, very properly.
Another silence followed. The lady could not return the quadroon'ssearching gaze.
"Momselle Aurore," suddenly said Palmyre, "you want me to work a spellfor something else."
Aurora started, looked up for an instant in a frightened way, and thendropped her eyes and let her head droop, murmuring:
"No, I do not."
Palmyre fixed a long look upon her former mistress. She saw that thoughAurora might be distressed about the rent, there was something else,--adeeper feeling,--impelling her upon a course the very thought of whichdrove the color from her lips and made her tremble.
"You are wearing red," said the philosophe.
Aurora's hand went nervously to the red ribbon about her neck.
"It is an accident; I had nothing else convenient."
"Miche Agoussou loves red," persisted Palmyre. (Monsieur Agoussou isthe demon upon whom the voudous call in matters of love.)
The color that came into Aurora's cheek ought to have suited Monsieurprecisely.
"It is an accident," she feebly insisted.
"Well," presently said Palmyre, with a pretence of abandoning herimpression, "then you want me to work you a spell for money, do you?"
Aurora nodded, while she still avoided the quadroon's glance.
"I know better," thought the philosophe. "You shall have the sort youwant."
The widow stole an upward glance.
"Oh!" said Palmyre, with the manner of one making a decided digression,"I have been wanting to ask you something. That evening at thepharmacy--was there a tall, handsome gentleman standing by the counter?"
"He was standing on the other side."
"Did you see his face?"
"No; his back was turned."
"Momselle Aurore," said Palmyre, dropping her elbows upon her knees andtaking the lady's hand as if the better to secure the truth, "was thatthe gentleman you met at the ball?"
"My faith!" said Aurora, stretching her eyebrows upward. "I did notthink to look. Who was it?"
But Palmyre Philosophe was not going to give more than she got, even toher old-time Momselle; she merely straightened back into her chair withan amiable face.
"Who do you think he is?" persisted Aurora, after a pause, smilingdownward and toying with her rings.
The quadroon shrugged.
They both sat in reverie for a moment--a long moment for such sprightlynatures--and Palmyre's mien took on a professional gravity. Shepresently pushed the landlord's letter under the lady's hands as theylay clasped in her lap, and a moment after drew Aurora's glance with herlarge, strong eyes and asked:
"What shall we do?"
The lady immediately looked startled and alarmed and again dropped hereyes in silence. The quadroon had to speak again.
"We will burn a candle."
Aurora trembled.
"No," she succeeded in saying.
"Yes," said Palmyre, "you must get your rent money." But the charm whichshe was meditating had no reference to rent money. "She knows that,"thought the voudou.
As she rose and called her Congo slave-woman, Aurora made as if toprotest further; but utterance failed her. She clenched he
r hands andprayed to fate for Clotilde to come and lead her away as she had done atthe apothecary's. And well she might.
The articles brought in by the servant were simply a little pound-cakeand cordial, a tumbler half-filled with the _sirop naturelle_ of thesugar-cane, and a small piece of candle of the kind made from thefragrant green wax of the candleberry myrtle. These were set upon thesmall table, the bit of candle standing, lighted, in the tumbler ofsirup, the cake on a plate, the cordial in a wine-glass. This feeblechild's play was all; except that as Palmyre closed out all daylightfrom the room and received the offering of silver that "paid the floor"and averted _guillons_ (interferences of outside imps), Aurora,--alas!alas!--went down upon her knees with her gaze fixed upon the candle'sflame, and silently called on Assonquer (the imp of good fortune) tocast his snare in her behalf around the mind and heart of--she knewnot whom.
By and by her lips, which had moved at first, were still and she onlywatched the burning wax. When the flame rose clear and long it was asign that Assonquer was enlisted in the coveted endeavor. When the wicksputtered, the devotee trembled in fear of failure. Its charred endcurled down and twisted away from her and her heart sank; but the tallfigure of Palmyre for a moment came between, the wick was snuffed, theflame tapered up again, and for a long time burned, a bright, tremulouscone. Again the wick turned down, but this time toward her,--apropitious omen,--and suddenly fell through the expended wax and wentout in the sirup.
The daylight, as Palmyre let it once more into the apartment, showedAurora sadly agitated. In evidence of the innocence of her flutteringheart, guilt, at least for the moment, lay on it, an appalling burden.
"That is all, Palmyre, is it not? I am sure that is all--it must be all.I cannot stay any longer. I wish I was with Clotilde; I have stayedtoo long."
"Yes; all for the present," replied the quadroon. "Here, here is somecharmed basil; hold it between your lips as you walk--"
"But I am going to my landlord's office!"
"Office? Nobody is at his office now; it is too late. You would findthat your landlord had gone to dinner. I will tell you, though, whereyou _must_ go. First go home; eat your dinner; and this evening [theCreoles never say afternoon], about a half-hour before sunset, walk downRoyale to the lower corner of the Place d'Armes, pass entirely aroundthe square and return up Royale. Never look behind until you get intoyour house again."
Aurora blushed with shame.
"Alone?" she exclaimed, quite unnerved and tremulous.
"You will seem to be alone; but I will follow behind you when you passhere. Nothing shall hurt you. If you do that, the charm will certainlywork; if you do not--"
The quadroon's intentions were good. She was determined to see who itwas that could so infatuate her dear little Momselle; and, as on such anevening as the present afternoon promised to merge into all New Orleanspromenaded on the Place d'Armes and the levee, her charm was a verypractical one.
"And that will bring the money, will it?" asked Aurora.
"It will bring anything you want."
"Possible?"
"These things that _you_ want, Momselle Aurore, are easy to bring. Youhave no charms working against you. But, oh, I wish to God I could workthe _curse_ I want to work!" The woman's eyes blazed, her bosom heaved,she lifted her clenched hand above her head and looked upward, crying:"I would give this right hand off at the wrist to catch AgricolaFusilier where I could work him a curse! But I shall; I shall some daybe revenged!" She pitched her voice still higher. "I cannot die till Ihave been! There is nothing that could kill me, I want my revenge sobad!" As suddenly as she had broken out, she hushed, unbarred the door,and with a stern farewell smile saw Aurora turn homeward.
"Give me something to eat, _cherie_," cried the exhausted lady, droppinginto Clotilde's chair and trying to die.
"Ah! _maman_, what makes you look so sick?"
Aurora waved her hand contemptuously and gasped.
"Did you see him? What kept you so long--so long?"
"Ask me nothing; I am so enraged with disappointment. He was gone todinner!"
"Ah! my poor mother!"
"And I must go back as soon as I can take a little _sieste_. I amdetermined to see him this very day."
"Ah! my poor mother!"