ht-coloured muslin, tastefully made, with long skirt and
tight sleeves--as was the fashion of the time--a fashion that displayed
the pleasing rotundity of her figure. Her head-dress was that worn by
all quadroons--the "toque" of the Madras kerchief, which sat upon her
brow like a coronet, its green, crimson, and yellow checks contrasting
finely with the raven blackness of her hair. She wore no ornaments
excepting the broad gold rings that glittered against the rich glow of
her cheeks; and upon her finger one other circlet of gold--the token of
her betrothal. I knew it well.

I buried myself in the crowd, slouching my hat on that side towards the
rostrum. I desired she should not see me, while I could not help gazing
upon her. I had taken my stand in such a situation, that I could still
command a view of the entrance. More than ever was I anxious about the
coming of D'Hauteville.

Aurore had been placed near the foot of the rostrum. I could just see
the edge of her turban over the shoulders of the crowd. By elevating
myself on my toes, I could observe her face, which by chance was turned
towards me. Oh! how my heart heaved as I struggled to read its
expression--as I endeavoured to divine the subject of her thoughts!

She looked sad and anxious. That was natural enough. But I looked for
another expression--that unquiet anxiety produced by the alternation of
hope and fear.

Her eye wandered over the crowd. She scanned the sea of faces that
surrounded her. _She was searching for some one. Was it for me_?

I held down my face as her glance passed over the spot. I dared not
meet her gaze. I feared that I could not restrain myself from
addressing her. Sweet Aurore!

I again looked up. Her eye was still wandering in fruitless search--oh!
surely it is for me!

Again I cowered behind the crowd, and her glance was carried onward.

I raised myself once more. I saw the shadow darkening upon her face.
Her eye filled with a deeper expression--it was the look of despair.

"Courage! courage!" I whispered to myself. "Look again, lovely Aurore!
This time I shall meet you. I shall speak to you from mine eyes--I
shall give back glance for glance--"

"She sees--she recognises me! That start--the flash of joy in her
eyes--the smile curling upon her lips! Her glance wanders no more--her
gaze is fixed--proud heart! It _was_ for me!"

Yes, our eyes met at length--met, melting and swimming with love. Mine
ha