CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.
PITY FOR LOVE.
Along the way we had conversed upon several topics indifferently--of mygambling adventure on the boat--of the "sportsmen" of New Orleans--ofthe fine moonlight.
Until after entering the cemetery, and taking our seats upon the tomb, Ihad disclosed nothing of that which altogether engrossed my thoughts.The time had now arrived for unbosoming myself, and half-an-hour afterEugene D'Hauteville knew the story of my love.
I confided to him all that had occurred from the time of my leaving NewOrleans, up to the period of our meeting upon the Houma. My interviewwith the banker Brown, and my fruitless search that day for Aurore, werealso detailed.
From first to last he listened without interrupting me; only once, whenI described the scene of my confession to Eugenie, and its painfulending. The details of this seemed to interest him exceedingly--infact, to give him pain. More than once I was interrupted by his sobs,and by the light of the moon I could see that he was in tears!
"Noble youth!" thought I, "thus to be affected by the sufferings of astranger!"
"Poor Eugenie!" murmured he, "is _she_ not to be pitied?"
"Pitied! ah, Monsieur; you know not how much I pity her! That scenewill never be effaced from my memory. If pity--friendship--anysacrifice could make amends, how willingly would I bestow it upon her--all but that which is not in my power to give--my love. Deeply,Monsieur D'Hauteville--deeply do I grieve for that noble lady. Oh, thatI could pluck the sting from her heart which I have been the innocentcause of placing there. But surely she will recover from thisunfortunate passion? Surely in time--"
"Ah! never! never!" interrupted D'Hauteville, with an earnestness ofmanner that surprised me.
"Why say you so, Monsieur?"
"Why?--because I have some skill in such affairs; young as you think me,_I_ have experienced a similar misfortune. Poor Eugenie! _Such a woundis hard to heal_; she will not recover from it. Ah--never!"
"Indeed, I pity her--with my whole soul I pity her."
"You should seek her and say so."
"Why?" I asked, somewhat astonished at the suggestion.
"Perhaps your pity expressed to her might give consolation."
"Impossible. It would have the contrary effect."
"You misjudge, Monsieur. Unrequited love is far less hard to bear whenit meets with sympathy. It is only haughty contempt and heartlesstriumph that wring blood-drops from the heart. Sympathy is balm to thewounds of love. Believe me it is so. _I feel it to be so. Oh! I feelit to be_ so!"
The last two phrases he spoke with an earnestness that sounded strangelyin my ears.
"Mysterious youth!" thought I. "So gentle, so compassionate, and yet soworldly-wise!"
I felt as though I conversed with some spiritual being--some superiormind, who comprehended all.
His doctrine was new to me, and quite contrary to the general belief.At a later period of my life I became convinced of its truth.
"If I thought my sympathy would have such an effect," replied I, "Ishould seek Eugenie--I should offer her--"
"There will be a time for that afterward," said D'Hauteville,interrupting me; "your present business is more pressing. You purposeto _buy this quadroon_?"
"I did so this morning. Alas! I have no longer a hope. It will not bein my power."
"How much money have these sharpers left you?"
"Not much over one hundred dollars."
"Ha! that will not do. From your description of her she will bring tentimes the amount. A misfortune, indeed! My own purse is still lighterthan yours. I have not a hundred dollars. _Pardieu_! it is a sadaffair."
D'Hauteville pressed his head between his hands, and remained for somemoments silent, apparently in deep meditation. From his manner I couldnot help believing that he really sympathised with me, and that he wasthinking of some plan to assist me.
"After all," he muttered to himself, just loud enough for me to hearwhat was said, "if she should not succeed--if she should not find thepapers--then she, too, must be a sacrifice. Oh! it is a terrible risk.It might be better not--it might be--"
"Monsieur!" I said, interrupting him, "of what are you speaking?"
"Oh!--ah! pardon me: it is an affair I was thinking of--_n'importe_. Wehad better return, Monsieur. It is cold. The atmosphere of this solemnplace chills me."
He said all this with an air of embarrassment, as though he had beenspeaking his thoughts unintentionally.
Though astonished at what he had uttered, I could not press him for anexplanation; but, yielding to his wish, I rose up to depart. I had losthope. Plainly he had it not in his power to serve me.
At this moment a resource suggested itself to my mind, or rather theforlorn hope of a resource.
I communicated it to my companion.
"I have still these two hundred dollars," said I, "They are of no moreservice to me for the purchase of Aurore than if they were so manypebbles. Suppose I try to increase the amount at the gaming-table?"
"Oh, I fear it would be an idle attempt. You would lose as before."
"That is not so certain, Monsieur. The chances at least are equal. Ineed not play with men of skill, like those upon the boat. Here in NewOrleans there are gaming-houses, plenty of them, where _games of chance_are carried on. These are of various kinds--as _faro, craps, loto_, and_roulette_. I can choose some one of these, where bets are made on thetossing of a die or the turning of a card. It is just as likely I maywin as lose. What say you, Monsieur? Give me your counsel."
"You speak truly," replied he. "There is a chance in the game. Itoffers a hope of your winning. If you lose, you will be no worse off asregards your intentions for to-morrow. If you win--"
"True, true--if I win--"
"You must not lose time, then. It is growing late. These gaming-housesshould be open at this hour: no doubt, they are now in the very tide oftheir business. Let us find one."
"You will go with me? Thanks, Monsieur D'Hauteville!Thanks--_allons_!"
We hastily traversed the walk that led to the entrance of the cemetery;and, issuing from the gate, took our way back into the town.
We headed for our point of departure--the Rue Saint Louis; for I knewthat in that neighbourhood lay the principal gambling hells.
It was not difficult to find them. At that period there was noconcealment required in such matters. The gambling passion among theCreoles, inherited from the original possessors of the city, was toorife among all classes to be put down by a police. The municipalauthorities in the American quarter had taken some steps toward thesuppression of this vice; but their laws had no force on the French sideof Canal Street; and Creole police had far different ideas, as well asdifferent instructions. In the French faubourgs gaming was notconsidered so hideous a crime, and the houses appropriated to it wereopen and avowed.
As you passed along Rue Conti, or Saint Louis, or the Rue Bourbon, youcould not fail to notice several large gilded lamps, upon which youmight read "faro" and "craps", "loto" or "roulette,"--odd words to theeyes of the uninitiated, but well enough understood by those whosebusiness it was to traverse the streets of the "First Municipality."
Our hurrying stops soon brought us in front of one of theseestablishments, whose lamp told us in plain letters that "faro" wasplayed inside.
It was the first that offered; and, without hesitating a moment, Ientered, followed by D'Hauteville.
We had to climb a wide stairway, at the top of which we were received bya whiskered and moustached fellow in waiting. I supposed that he wasabout to demand some fee for admission. I was mistaken in myconjecture. Admission was perfectly free. The purpose of thisindividual in staying us was to divest us of arms, for which he handedus a ticket, that we might reclaim them in going out. That he haddisarmed a goodly number before our turn came, was evident from thenumerous butts of pistols, hafts of bowie-knives, and handles ofdaggers, that protruded from the pigeon-holes of a shelf-like struc
turestanding in one corner of the passage.
The whole proceeding reminded me of the scenes I had often witnessed--the surrender of canes, umbrellas, and parasols, on entering apicture-gallery or a museum. No doubt it was a necessary precaution--the non-observance of which would have led to many a scene of blood overthe gaming-table.
We yielded up our weapons--I a pair of pistols, and my companion a smallsilver dagger. These were ticketed, duplicates delivered to us, and wewere allowed to pass on into the "_saloon_."