BEFORE SUNSET In old times, most of the sidewalks of New Orleans not in the heart of town were only a rough, rank turf, lined on the side next the ditch with the gunwales of broken-up flatboats--ugly, narrow, slippery objects.

As Aurora--it sounds so much pleasanter to anglicize her name--as Aurora gained a corner where two of these gunwales met, she stopped and looked back to make sure that Clotilde was not watching her.

That others had noticed her here and there she did not care; that was something beauty would have to endure, and it only made her smile to herself.
"Everybody sees I am from the country--walking on the street without a waiting-maid." A boy passed, hushing his whistle, and gazing at the lone lady until his turning neck could twist no farther.

She was so dewy fresh! After he had got across the street he turned to look again.

Where could she have disappeared?
The only object to be seen on the corner from which she had vanished was a small, yellow-washed house much like the one Aurora occupied, as it was like hundreds that then characterized and still characterize the town, only that now they are of brick instead of adobe.