The united grace and pride of her movement was inspiring but--what shall we say ?--feline?
It was a femininity without humanity,--something that made her, with all her superbness, a creature that one would want to find chained.

It was the woman who had received the gold from Frowenfeld--Palmyre Philosophe.
The moment her eyes fell upon Aurora her whole appearance changed.

A girlish smile lighted up her face, and as Aurora rose up reflecting it back, they simultaneously clapped hands, laughed and advanced joyously toward each other, talking rapidly without regard to each other's words.
"Sit down," said Palmyre, in the plantation French of their childhood, as they shook hands.
They took chairs and drew up face to face as close as they could come, then sighed and smiled a moment, and then looked grave and were silent.
For in the nature of things, and notwithstanding the amusing familiarity common between Creole ladies and the menial class, the unprotected little widow should have had a very serious errand to bring her to the voudou's house.
"Palmyre," began the lady, in a sad tone.
"Momselle Aurore." "I want you to help me." The former mistress not only cast her hands into her lap, lifted her eyes supplicatingly and dropped them again, but actually locked her fingers to keep them from trembling.
"Momselle Aurore--" began Palmyre, solemnly.
"Now, I know what you are going to say--but it is of no use to say it; do this much for me this one time and then I will let voudou alone as much as you wish--forever!" "You have not lost your purse _again ?_" "Ah! foolishness, no." Both laughed a little, the philosophe feebly, and Aurora with an excited tremor.
"Well ?" demanded the quadroon, looking grave again.
Aurora did not answer.
"Do you wish me to work a spell for you ?" The widow nodded, with her eyes cast down.
Both sat quite still for some time; then the philosophe gently drew the landlord's letter from between Aurora's hands.
"What is this ?" She could not read in any language.
"I must pay my rent within nineteen days." "Have you not paid it ?" The delinquent shook her head.
"Where is the gold that came into your purse?
All gone ?" "For rice and potatoes," said Aurora, and for the first time she uttered a genuine laugh, under that condition of mind which Latins usually substitute for fortitude.

Palmyre laughed too, very properly.
Another silence followed.

The lady could not return the quadroon's searching gaze.
"Momselle Aurore," suddenly said Palmyre, "you want me to work a spell for something else." Aurora started, looked up for an instant in a frightened way, and then dropped her eyes and let her head droop, murmuring: "No, I do not." Palmyre fixed a long look upon her former mistress.