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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Ah! more than possible it is true. Listen, Aurore! From the first hour I beheld you I might almost say before that hour, for you were in my heart before I was conscious of having seen you from, that first hour I loved you not with a villain's love, such as you have this moment spurned, but with a pure and honest passion.
His answer to other questions which I put to him gave me no solution to it; and I returned up-stairs with a heart that suffered under the pressure of disappointment. The only reflection from which I drew comfort was, that I might have been mistaken. Perhaps, after all, it was not Aurore! To drown care and sorrow men drink.
But beyond discouraging a belief in miraculous agencies she preserved a neutrality with her ward on the subject, and Aurore was left free to drift as her nature should decide. Instinctively she felt more drawn toward her mother's unreasoning, emotional faith than toward a system of philosophic, critical inquiry.
My daughter-in-law has been staying several days with our friends, at Nimes, to stop a bad case of WHOOPING-COUGH that Gabrielle was suffering with, to separate her from Aurore, from fear of contagion, and to recuperate, for she has not been well for some time. As for me, I am well again. That little illness and this departure suddenly resolved upon and accomplished, have upset my plans somewhat.
I shall return soon, and see that you are properly waited upon. I have lodged you in this little place, that you might be out of reach of noises that would disturb you. Indeed I am to blame for this present intrusion. The doctor has ordered you not to be visited, but I I could not rest till I had seen the preserver of my life, and offered him my thanks. Adieu, adieu! Come, Aurore!"
The porters had left hurriedly for the rue d'Hauteville and a quarter of an hour went by. The detective had requested the concierge to ask the Madame Aurore to whom she had previously appealed so loudly for help, to take her place temporarily in the lodge. Juve kept Mme. Doulenques upstairs with him partly to get information from her, and partly to prevent her from gossiping downstairs.
I am also doing many water colors, I am reading the Iliad with Aurore, who does not like any translation except Leconte de Lisle's, insisting that Homer is spoiled by approximate renderings. The child is a singular mixture of precocity and childishness. She is nine years old and so large that one would think her twelve.
They would have lit upon it sooner, but that my hands trembled, and the vibratory motion of the sheet almost prevented me from reading. It was there at length last upon the list! "Why last?" No matter her "description" was there. Can I trust myself to read it? Down, burning heart, still your wild throbbings! "Lot 65. Aurore. 19. Quadroon. Likely good housekeeper, and sempstress."
These, it is true, often modify the hard lot of the female slave, sometimes detailing upon her a still more cruel fate; but in the case of Aurore, there was some very different reason for the kindness shown her, though I could only guess at it.
Mass'r Toney he angry, tell 'im go; and de boat captain he go angry like de rest. Hya! hya! hya!" "And why should Aurore command such a price?" "Oh! she berry good gal berry good gal but " Scipio hesitated a moment "but " "Well?" "I don't b'lieve, mass'r, daat's de reason." "What, then?" "Why, mass'r, to tell de troof, I b'lieve dar all bad men daat wanted to buy de gal."
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