CHAPTER XVI
STARLIGHT IN THE RUE CHARTRES
"Oh! M'sieur Frowenfel', tague me ad home!"
It was Aurora, who caught the apothecary's arm vehemently in both herhands with a look of beautiful terror. And whatever Joseph's astronomymight have previously taught him to the contrary, he knew by his sensesthat the earth thereupon turned entirely over three times intwo seconds.
His confused response, though unintelligible, answered all purposes, asthe lady found herself the next moment hurrying across the Place d'Armesclose to his side, and as they by-and-by passed its farther limits shebegan to be conscious that she was clinging to her protector as thoughshe would climb up and hide under his elbow. As they turned up the rueChartres she broke the silence.
"Oh!-h!"--breathlessly,--"'h!--M'sieur Frowenf'--you walkin' so faz!"
"Oh!" echoed Frowenfeld, "I did not know what I was doing."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the lady, "me, too, juz de sem lag you!_attendez_; wait."
They halted; a moment's deft manipulation of a veil turned it into awrapping for her neck.
"'Sieur Frowenfel', oo dad man was? You know 'im?"
She returned her hand to Frowenfeld's arm and they moved on.
"The one who spoke to you, or--you know the one who got near enough toapologize is not the one whose horse struck you!"
"I din know. But oo dad odder one? I saw h-only 'is back, bud I thing itis de sem--"
She identified it with the back that was turned to her during her lastvisit to Frowenfeld's shop; but finding herself about to mention amatter so nearly connected with the purse of gold, she checked herself;but Frowenfeld, eager to say a good word for his acquaintance, venturedto extol his character while he concealed his name.
"While I have never been introduced to him, I have some acquaintancewith him, and esteem him a noble gentleman."
"W'ere you meet him?"
"I met him first," he said, "at the graves of my parents and sisters."
There was a kind of hush after the mention, and the lady made no reply.
"It was some weeks after my loss," resumed Frowenfeld.
"In wad _cimetiere_ dad was?"
"In no cemetery--being Protestants, you know--"
"Ah, yes, sir?" with a gentle sigh.
"The physician who attended me procured permission to bury them on someprivate land below the city."
"Not in de groun'[2]?"
[Footnote 2: Only Jews and paupers are buried in the ground in NewOrleans.]
"Yes; that was my father's expressed wish when he died."
"You 'ad de fivver? Oo nurse you w'en you was sick?"
"An old hired negress."
"Dad was all?"
"Yes."
"Hm-m-m!" she said piteously, and laughed in her sleeve.
Who could hope to catch and reproduce the continuous lively thrill whichtraversed the frame of the escaped book-worm as every moment there wasrepeated to his consciousness the knowledge that he was walking acrossthe vault of heaven with the evening star on his arm--at least, that hewas, at her instigation, killing time along the dim, ill-lighted_trottoirs_ of the rue Chartres, with Aurora listening sympatheticallyat his side. But let it go; also the sweet broken English with which shenow and then interrupted him; also the inward, hidden sparkle of herdancing Gallic blood; her low, merry laugh; the roguish mentalreservation that lurked behind her graver speeches; the droll bravadosshe uttered against the powers that be, as with timid fingers he brushedfrom her shoulder a little remaining dust of the late encounter--thesethings, we say, we let go,--as we let butterflies go rather than pinthem to paper.
They had turned into the rue Bienville, and were walking toward theriver, Frowenfeld in the midst of a long sentence, when a low cry oftearful delight sounded in front of them, some one in long robes glidedforward, and he found his arm relieved of its burden and that burdentransferred to the bosom and passionate embrace of another--we hadalmost said a fairer--Creole, amid a bewildering interchange of kissesand a pelting shower of Creole French.
A moment after, Frowenfeld found himself introduced to "my dotter,Clotilde," who all at once ceased her demonstrations of affection andbowed to him with a majestic sweetness, that seemed one instant gratefuland the next, distant.
"I can hardly understand that you are not sisters," said Frowenfeld, alittle awkwardly.
"Ah! _ecoutez!_" exclaimed the younger.
"Ah! _par exemple!_" cried the elder, and they laughed down each other'sthroats, while the immigrant blushed.
This encounter was presently followed by a silent surprise when theystopped and turned before the door of Number 19, and Frowenfeldcontrasted the women with their painfully humble dwelling. But thereinis where your true Creole was, and still continues to be, properly, yea,delightfully un-American; the outside of his house may be as rough asthe outside of a bird's nest; it is the inside that is for the birds;and the front room of this house, when the daughter presently threw openthe batten shutters of its single street door, looked as bright andhappy, with its candelabra glittering on the mantel, and its curtains ofsnowy lace, as its bright-eyed tenants.
"'Sieur Frowenfel', if you pliz to come in," said Aurora, and the timidapothecary would have bravely accepted the invitation, but for a quicklook which he saw the daughter give the mother; whereupon he asked,instead, permission to call at some future day, and received the cordialleave of Aurora and another bow from Clotilde.