doze peop' say 'bout Ursin."

"_Qui ci ca_? What is that?" asked the quadroone, stopping her fan.

"Some peop' say Ursin is crezzie."

"Ah, Pere Jerome!" She leaped to her feet as if he had smitten her, and
putting his words away with an outstretched arm and wide-open palm,
suddenly lifted hands and eyes to heaven, and cried: "I wizh to God--_I
wizh to God_--de whole worl' was crezzie dad same way!" She sank,
trembling, into her chair. "Oh, no, no," she continued, shaking her
head, "'tis not Miche Vignevielle w'at's crezzie." Her eyes lighted with
sudden fierceness. "'Tis dad _law_! Dad _law_ is crezzie! Dad law is a
fool!"

A priest of less heart-wisdom might have replied that the law is--the
law; but Pere Jerome saw that Madame Delphine was expecting this very
response. Wherefore he said, with gentleness:

"Madame Delphine, a priest is not a bailiff, but a physician. How can I
help you?"

A grateful light shone a moment in her eyes, yet there remained a
piteous hostility in the tone in which she demanded:

"_Mais, pou'quoi ye, fe cette mechanique la?_"--What business had they
to make that contraption?

His answer was a shrug with his palms extended and a short, disclamatory
"Ah." He started to resume his walk, but turned to her again and said:
"Why did they make that law? Well, they made it to keep the two races
separate."

Madame Delphine startled the speaker with a loud, harsh, angry laugh.
Fire came from her eyes and her lip curled with scorn.

"Then they made a lie, Pere Jerome! Separate! No-o-o! They do not
want to keep us separated; no, no! But they _do_ want to keep us
despised!" She laid her hand on her heart, and frowned upward with
physical pain. "But, very well! from which race do they want to
keep my daughter separate? She is seven parts white! The law did
not stop her from being that; and now, when she wants to be a white
man's good and honest wife, shall that law stop her? Oh, no!" She
rose up. "No; I will tell you what that law is made for. It is made
to--punish--my--child--for--not--choosing--her--father! Pere Jerome--my
God, what a law!" She dropped back into her seat. The tears came in a
flood, which she made no attempt to restrain.

"No," she began again--and here she broke into English--"fo' me I don'
kyare; but, Pere Jerome,--'tis fo' dat I came to tell you,--dey _shall
not_ punizh my daughter!" She was on her feet again, smiting her heaving
bosom with the fan. "She shall marrie oo