Daat am de genl'um's name. Know 'im, young mass'r?"

"Only very slightly," I answered, and this answer seemed to set my
companion at his ease again.

The truth is, I had no _personal_ acquaintance with the individual
mentioned; but during my stay in New Orleans, accident had brought me in
contact with the name. A little adventure had befallen me, in which the
bearer of it figured--not to advantage. On the contrary, I had
conceived a strong dislike for the man, who, as already stated, was a
lawyer, or _avocat_ of the New Orleans bar. Scipio's man was no doubt
the same. The name was too rare a one to be borne by two individuals;
besides, I had heard that he was owner of a plantation somewhere up the
coast--at Bringiers, I remembered. The probabilities were it was he.
If so, and Mademoiselle Besancon had no other friend, then, indeed, had
Scipio spoken truly when he said, "She hab no friends leff."

Scipio's observation had not only roused my curiosity, but had imparted
to me a vague feeling of uneasiness. It is needless to say that I was
now deeply interested in this young Creole. A man who has saved a
life--the life of a beautiful woman--and under such peculiar
circumstances, could not well be indifferent to the after-fate of her he
has rescued.

Was it a lover's interest that had been awakened within me?

My heart answered, No! To my own astonishment, it gave this answer. On
the boat I had fancied myself half in love with this young lady; and
now, after a romantic incident--one that might appear a very provocative
to the sublime passion--I lay on my couch contemplating the whole affair
with a coolness that surprised even myself! I felt that I had lost much
blood--had my incipient passion flowed out of my veins at the same time?

I endeavoured to find some explanation for this rare psychological fact;
but at that time I was but an indifferent student of the mind. The land
of love was to me a _terre inconnue_.

One thing was odd enough. Whenever I essayed to recall the features of
the Creole, the dream-face rose up before me more palpable than ever!

"Strange!" thought I, "this lovely vision! this dream of my diseased
brain! Oh! what would I not give to embody this fair spectral form!"

I had no longer a doubt about it. I was certain I did not love
Mademoiselle Besancon, and yet I was far from feeling indifferent
towards her. Friendship was the feeling that now actuated me. The
interest, I felt f