ll all my wash'n' t'ings!
'Tain't nutt'n' but my old dress roll' up into a ball. Oh, please--now,
you see? nutt'n' but a po' nigga's dr--_oh! fo' de love o' God, Miche
Jean-Baptiste, don' open dat ah box! Y'en a rien du tout la-dans, Miche
Jean-Baptiste; du tout, du tout_! Oh, my God! _Miche_, on'y jis teck
dis-yeh t'ing off'n my laig, ef yo' _please_, it's bit'n' me lak a
_dawg_!--if you _please, Miche_! Oh! you git kill' if you open dat ah
box, Mawse Jean-Baptiste! _Mo' parole d'honneur le plus sacre_--I'll
kiss de cross! Oh, _sweet Miche Jean, laisse moi aller_! Nutt'n' but
some dutty close _la-dans_." She repeated this again and again, even
after Capitain Jean-Baptiste had disengaged a small black coffin from
the old dress in which it was wrapped. "_Rien du tout, Miche_; nutt'n'
but some wash'n' fo' one o' de boys."

He removed the lid and saw within, resting on the cushioned bottom, the
image, in myrtle-wax, moulded and painted with some rude skill, of a
negro's bloody arm cut off near the shoulder--a _bras coupe_--with a
dirk grasped in its hand.

The old woman lifted her eyes to heaven; her teeth chattered; she gasped
twice before she could recover utterance. "_Oh, Miche_ Jean-Baptiste, I
di' n' mek dat ah! _Mo' te pas fe ca_! I swea' befo' God! Oh, no, no,
no! 'Tain' nutt'n' nohow but a lill play-toy, _Miche_. Oh, sweet _Miche
Jean_, you not gwan to kill me? I di' n' mek it! It was--ef you lemme
go, I tell you who mek it! Sho's I live I tell you, _Miche Jean_--ef you
lemme go! Sho's God's good to me--ef you lemme go! Oh, God A'mighty,
_Miche Jean_, sho's God's good to me."

She was becoming incoherent.

Then Capitain Jean-Baptiste Grandissime for the first time spoke at
length:

"Do you see this?" he spoke the French of the Atchafalaya. He put his
long flintlock pistol close to her face. "I shall take the trap off; you
will walk three feet in front of me; if you make it four I blow your
brains out; we shall go to Agricole. But right here, just now, before I
count ten, you will tell me who sent you here; at the word ten, if I
reach it, I pull the trigger. One--two--three--"

"Oh, _Miche_, she gwan to gib me to de devil wid _houdou_ ef I tell
you--Oh, good _Lawdy_!"

But he did not pause.

"Four--five--six--seven--eight--"

"Palmyre!" gasped the negress, and grovelled on the ground.

The trap was loosened from her bleeding leg, the burden placed in her
arms, and they disappeared in the direction of th