ss beautiful, but her beauty impressed me only as that of the
statue. It failed to enter my heart, already filled with beauty of a
still rarer and more glowing kind. The Creole loved me not; and,
strange to say, the reflection, instead of piquing my vanity, rather
gratified me!

How different when my thoughts dwelt upon the Quadroon! Did _she_ love
me? This was the question, for whose answer my heart yearned with fond
eagerness. She always attended upon Mademoiselle during her visits; but
not a word dare I exchange with _her_, although my heart was longing to
yield up its secret. I even feared that my burning glances might betray
me. Oh! if Mademoiselle but knew of my love, she would scorn and
despise me. What! in love with a slave! her slave!

I understood this feeling well--this black crime of her nation. What
was it to me? Why should I care for customs and conventionalities which
I at heart despised, even outside the levelling influence of love? But
under that influence, less did I care to respect them. In the eyes of
Love, rank loses its fictitious charm--titles seem trivial things. For
me, Beauty wears the crown.

So far as regarded my feelings, I would not have cared a straw if the
whole world had known of my love--not a straw for its scorn. But there
were other considerations--the courtesy due to hospitality--to
friendship; and there were considerations of a less delicate but still
graver nature--the promptings of _prudence_. The situation in which I
was placed was most peculiar, and I knew it. I knew that my passion,
even if reciprocated, must be secret and silent. Talk of making love to
a young miss closely watched by governess or guardian--a ward in
Chancery--an heiress of expectant thousands! It is but "child's play"
to break through the _entourage_ that surrounds one of such. To
scribble sonnets and scale walls is but an easy task, compared with the
bold effrontery that challenges the passions and prejudices of a people!

My wooing promised to be anything but easy; my love-path was likely to
be a rugged one.

Notwithstanding the monotony of confinement to my chamber, the hours of
my convalescence passed pleasantly enough. Everything was furnished me
that could contribute to my comfort or recovery. Ices, delicious
drinks, flowers, rare and costly fruits, were constantly supplied to me.
For my dishes I was indebted to the skill of Scipio's helpmate, Chloe,
and through her I became acq