ind me and Despair in front, I hurried back to the hotel.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

EUGENE D'HAUTEVILLE.

The remainder of the day I was occupied in searching for Aurore. I
could learn nothing of her--not even whether she had yet reached the
city!

In search of her I went to the quarters where the others had their
temporary lodgment. She was not these. She had either not yet arrived,
or was kept at some other place. They had not seen her! They knew
nothing about her.

Disappointed and wearied with running through the hot and dusty streets,
I returned to the hotel.

I waited for night. I waited for the coming of Eugene d'Hauteville, for
such was the name of my new acquaintance.

I was strangely interested in this young man. Our short interview had
inspired me with a singular confidence in him. He had given proof of a
friendly design towards me; and still more had impressed me with a high
idea of his knowledge of the world. Young as he was, I could not help
fancying him a being possessed of some mysterious power. I could not
help thinking that in some way he might aid me. There was nothing
remarkable in his being so young and still _au-fait_ to all the
mysteries of life. Precocity is the privilege of the American,
especially the native of New Orleans. A Creole at fifteen is a man.

I felt satisfied that D'Hauteville--about my own age--knew far more of
the world than I, who had been half my life cloistered within the walls
of an antique university.

I had an instinct that he both _could_ and _would_ serve me.

How? you may ask. By lending me the money I required?

It could not be thus. I believed that he was himself without funds, or
possessed of but little--far too little to be of use to me. My reason
for thinking so was the reply he had made when I asked for his address.
There was something in the tone of his answer that led me to the thought
that he was without fortune--even without a home. Perhaps a clerk out
of place, thought I; or a poor artist. His dress was rich enough--but
dress is no criterion on a Mississippi steamboat.

With these reflections it was strange I should have been impressed with
the idea _he_ could serve me! But I was so, and had therefore resolved
to make him the confidant of my secret--the secret of my love--the
secret of my misery.

Perhaps another impulse acted upon me, and aided in bringing me to this
determination. He whose heart has been charged with a dee