ible, in what part of
the house she would pass the night--to enter her room after all had gone
to sleep--propose to her to fly with me--and then make our escape the
best way we could.

Once clear of the house, I had scarce thought of a plan of action. That
seemed easy enough. Our horses would carry us back to the city. There
we might remain concealed, until some friendly ship should bear us from
the country.

This was all the plan I had conceived, and, having communicated it to
D'Hauteville, I awaited his response.

After some moments' silence, he replied, signifying his approval of it.
Like me, he could think of no other course to be followed. Aurore must
be carried away at all hazards.

We now conversed about the details. We debated every chance of failure
and success.

Our main difficulty, both agreed, would be in communicating with Aurore.
Could we do so? Surely she would not be locked in? Surely Gayarre
would not be suspicious enough to have her guarded and watched? He was
now the full owner of this coveted treasure--no one could legally
deprive him of his slave--no one could carry her away without the risk
of a fearful punishment; and although he no doubt suspected that some
understanding existed between the quadroon and myself, I would never
dream of such a love as that which I felt--a love that would lead me to
risk even life itself, as I now intended.

No. Gayarre, judging from his own vile passion, might believe that I,
like himself, had been "struck" with the girl's beauty, and that I was
willing to pay a certain sum--three thousand dollars--to possess her.
But the fact that I had bid no more--no doubt exactly reported to him by
his agent--was proof that my love had its limits, and there was an end
of it. As a rival he would hear of me no more. No. Monsieur Dominique
Gayarre would never suspect a passion like mine--would never dream of
such a purpose as the one to which that passion now impelled me. An
enterprise so romantic was not within the bounds of probability.
Therefore--so reasoned D'Hauteville and I--it was not likely Aurore
would be either guarded or watched.

But even though she might not be, how were we to communicate with her?
That would be extremely difficult.

I built my hopes on the little slip of paper--on the words "_Ce soir
viendrai_." Surely upon this night Aurore would _not sleep_. My heart
told me she would not, and the thought rendered me proud and sanguine.
Tha