I have taken a walk through the shrubbery and garden. I
encountered Aurore among the orange-trees, gathering the golden fruit;
but she was accompanied by little Chloe, who held the basket. What
would I not have given to have found her alone! A word or two only was
I able to exchange with her, and she was gone.

She expressed her pleasure at seeing me able to be abroad. She _seemed_
pleased; I fancied she felt so, I never saw her look so lovely. The
exercise of shaking down the oranges had brought out the rich crimson
bloom upon her cheeks, and her large brown eyes were shining like
sapphires. Her full bosom rose and fell with her excited breathing, and
the light wrapper she wore enabled me to trace the noble outlines of her
form.

I was struck with the gracefulness of her gait as she walked away. It
exhibited an undulating motion, produced by a peculiarity of figure--a
certain _embonpoint_ characteristic of her race. She was large and
womanly, yet of perfect proportion and fine delicate outlines. Her
hands were small and slender, and her little feet seemed hardly to press
upon the pebbles. My eyes followed her in a delirium of admiration.
The fire in my heart burned fiercer as I returned to my solitary
chamber.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A CHANGE OF QUARTERS.

I was thinking over my short interview with Aurore--congratulating
myself upon some expressions she had dropped--happy in the anticipation
that such encounters would recur frequently, now that I was able to be
abroad--when in the midst of my pleasant reverie the door of my
apartment became darkened. I looked up, and beheld the hated face of
Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.

It was his first visit since the morning after my arrival upon the
plantation. What could _he_ want with _me_?

I was not kept long in suspense, for my visitor, without even
apologising for his intrusion, opened his business abruptly and at once.

"Monsieur," began he, "I have made arrangements for your removal to the
hotel at Bringiers."

"You have?" said I, interrupting him in a tone as abrupt and something
more indignant than his own. "And who, sir, may I ask, has commissioned
_you_ to take this trouble?"

"Ah--oh!" stammered he, somewhat tamed down by his brusque reception, "I
beg pardon, Monsieur. Perhaps you are not aware that I am the agent--
the friend--in fact, the guardian of Mademoiselle Besancon--and--and--"

"Is it Mademoiselle Besancon's wish that I go to B