She saw that though Aurora might be distressed about the rent, there was something else,--a deeper feeling,--impelling her upon a course the very thought of which drove the color from her lips and made her tremble.
"You are wearing red," said the philosophe.
Aurora's hand went nervously to the red ribbon about her neck.
"It is an accident; I had nothing else convenient." "Miche Agoussou loves red," persisted Palmyre.

(Monsieur Agoussou is the demon upon whom the voudous call in matters of love.) The color that came into Aurora's cheek ought to have suited Monsieur precisely.
"It is an accident," she feebly insisted.
"Well," presently said Palmyre, with a pretence of abandoning her impression, "then you want me to work you a spell for money, do you ?" Aurora nodded, while she still avoided the quadroon's glance.
"I know better," thought the philosophe.

"You shall have the sort you want." The widow stole an upward glance.
"Oh!" said Palmyre, with the manner of one making a decided digression, "I have been wanting to ask you something.

That evening at the pharmacy--was there a tall, handsome gentleman standing by the counter ?" "He was standing on the other side." "Did you see his face ?" "No; his back was turned." "Momselle Aurore," said Palmyre, dropping her elbows upon her knees and taking the lady's hand as if the better to secure the truth, "was that the gentleman you met at the ball ?" "My faith!" said Aurora, stretching her eyebrows upward.

"I did not think to look.