.

Madame John danced beautifully. It had to be done. It brought some pay,
and pay was bread; and every Sunday evening, with a touch here and there
of paint and powder, the mother danced the dance of the shawl, the
daughter remaining at home alone.

Kristian Koppig, simple, slow-thinking young Dutchman, never noticing
that he staid at home with his window darkened for the very purpose,
would see her come to her window and look out with a little wild,
alarmed look in her magnificent eyes, and go and come again, and again,
until the mother, like a storm-driven bird, came panting home.

Two or three months went by.

One night, on the mother's return, Kristian Koppig coming to his room
nearly at the same moment, there was much earnest conversation, which he
could see, but not hear.

"'Tite Poulette," said Madame John, "you are seventeen."

"True, Maman."

"Ah! my child, I see not how you are to meet the future." The voice
trembled plaintively.

"But how, Maman?"

"Ah! you are not like others; no fortune, no pleasure, no friend."

"Maman!"

"No, no;--I thank God for it; I am glad you are not; but you will be
lonely, lonely, all your poor life long. There is no place in this world
for us poor women. I wish that we were either white or black!"--and the
tears, two "shining ones," stood in the poor quadroon's eyes.

Tha daughter stood up, her eyes flashing.

"God made us, Maman," she said with a gentle, but stately smile.

"Ha!" said the mother, her keen glance darting through her tears, "Sin
made _me_, yes."

"No," said 'Tite Poulette, "God made us. He made us Just as we are; not
more white, not more black."

"He made you, truly!" said Zalli. "You are so beautiful; I believe it
well." She reached and drew the fair form to a kneeling posture. "My
sweet, white daughter!"

Now the tears were in the girl's eyes. "And could I be whiter than I
am?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no! 'Tite Poulette," cried the other; "but if we were only
_real white!_--both of us; so that some gentleman might come to see me
and say 'Madame John, I want your pretty little chick. She is so
beautiful. I want to take her home. She is so good--I want her to be my
wife.' Oh, my child, my child, to see that I would give my life--I would
give my soul! Only you should take me along to be your servant. I walked
behind two young men to-night; they ware coming home from their office;
presently they began to talk about you."

'Tite Poulette's eyes