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However, he made up his mind, and he proceeded towards the presbytery, thinking in what manner he would speak about his case. The Abbe Raffin, a lively little priest, thin and never shaved, was awaiting his dinner-hour while warming his feet at his kitchen-fire. As soon as he saw the peasant entering, he asked, merely turning round his head: "Well, Césaire, what do you want?"
The old man raised towards him an anxious eye full of suspicion, and, foreseeing danger, he was getting ready to climb up his ladder when the Abbe Raffin laid his hand on his shoulder, and shouted close to his temple: "I want to have a talk with you, Father Amable." Césaire had disappeared, taking advantage of the door being open.
But beneath the finery and the chatter ran a subtle under-current of foreboding, for your negro is superstitious, and, well, Voodoos are Voodoos! Dominique Raffin, dressed in somber black, went to the club alone and unattended save by Miss Aphrodite Tate.
Raffin and Aphrodite were received with a fearsome respect by Behemoth Scott, who had been appointed master of ceremonies. "Jes' make yo'se'f to home," he greeted them. "Mista Travis ain't come yit; we has ten minutes befo' de contes' styarts." At last, with a bare minute to spare, Ambrose smilingly entered.
Thereupon the Abbe Raffin carefully surveyed his peasant. He saw his confused countenance, his air of constraint, his wandering eyes, and he gave orders to the housekeeper in these words: "Marie, go away for five minutes to your room, while I talk to Cesaire." The servant cast on the man an angry glance and went away grumbling. The clergyman went on: "Come, now, tell your story."
Ambrose and the mulatto were seated opposite each other and were perhaps twelve feet apart. Raffin, nervously licking his lips, sat bolt upright while members of the committee passed ropes around him and the back of his chair, and tied his hands. In direct contrast to his rival, Ambrose slouched down in his seat and joked with the trembling members as they secured him in his place.
The stampede was spontaneous! Chairs were overturned and tables smashed in this frightful panic in the dark. No one thought of turning on the lights everyone's sole aim was to leave that appalling shining hand and get out! A crashing on the stairway marked where Raffin, chair and all, was making his fear-stricken way to the street.
This threat only aroused new fires of scorn and vituperation, and Miss Tate informed her guest that, should he ever attempt the punitive measures described, Mr. Raffin would cut him up into little pieces. It seemed that Mr. Raffin carried a knife, and that he knew how to use it. Mr. Travis snorted at this, and stamped out of the Tate apartment.
The old man raised toward him an anxious eye full of suspicion, and, foreseeing danger, he was getting ready to climb up his ladder when the Abbe Raffin laid his hand on his shoulder and shouted close to his temple: "I want to have a talk with you, Father Amable." Cesaire had disappeared, taking advantage of the door being open.
Altogether, it is not to be wondered that such sturdy sons of Ham as Ambrose disliked the snaky Mr. Raffin. Disliked him the more when his various musical and cultural accomplishments made him a general favourite with the ladies. And then, when he absolutely cut Mr. Travis from the affections of Miss Tate, the wrath of the blacker and more wholesome San Juan citizens knew no bounds.
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