Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court.

THOMSON.

The female slaves, who could not obtain the history of Newton, immediately repaired to the chamber of their mistress, knowing that if they could succeed in raising her curiosity, they would at the same time gratify their own. Madame de Fontanges was, as they a.s.serted, in her chamber, or, what may now be more correctly styled, her boudoir. It was a room about fourteen feet square, the sides of which were covered with a beautiful paper, representing portions of the history of Paul and Virginia; the floor was covered with fine matting, with here and there a small Persian carpet above it. Small marble tables were decorated with a variety of ornaments and French perfumes, or vases filled with the splendid flowers of a tropical clime. There was a large window at each end of the room, cut down to the ground, in the French fashion, and outside of both was a little balcony, the trellice-work covered with pa.s.sion-flower and clematis. The doors and other compartments of the room were not papered, but had French mirrors let into the panelling.

On a low ottoman, of elegant workmanship, covered with a damask French silk, reposed Madame de Fontanges, attended by three or four young female slaves, of different complexions, but none of pure African blood.

Others were seated upon the different Persian carpets about the room, in listless idleness or strewing the petals of the orange-flower, to perfume the apartment with its odour. The only negro was a little boy, about six years of age, dressed in a fantastic costume, who sat in a corner, apparently in a very sulky humour.

Madame de Fontanges was a creole, that is, born in the West Indies, of French parents. She had been sent home to France for her education, and had returned at the age of fourteen to Guadaloupe, where she soon after married Monsieur de Fontanges, an officer of rank, and brother to the governor of the island. Her form was diminutive, but most perfect; her hand and arm models for the statuary; while her feet were so small as almost to excite risibility when you observed them. Her features were regular, and when raised from their usual listlessness, full of expression. Large hazel eyes, beautifully pencilled eyebrows, with long fringed eyelashes, dark and luxuriant hair, Grecian nose, small mouth, with thin coral lips, were set off by a complexion which even the climate could not destroy, although it softened it into extreme delicacy.

Such was the person of Madame de Fontanges, now about eighteen years old, and one of the most beautiful specimens of the French creoles which could be imagined. Her perfect little figure needed no support; she was simply attired in a muslin _robe de chambre_, as she reposed upon the ottoman, waiting with all the impatience of her caste, for the setting in of the sea-breeze, which would give some relief from the oppressive heat of the climate.

"Eventez! Nina, eventez!" cried she to one of her attendants, who was standing at the head of the sofa, with a large feather fan.

"Oui, madame," replied the girl, stirring up the dormant atmosphere.

"Eventez! Caroline, eventez mes mains, vite."

"Oui, madame," replied the second, working away with another fan.

"Eventez! eventez mes pieds, Mimi."

"Oui, madame," replied the third, fanning in the direction pointed out.

"Louise," said Madame de Fontanges, languidly, after a short pause, "apporte-moi de l'eau sucree."

"Oui, madame," replied another, rising, in obedience to the order.

"Non, non! Je n'en veux pas--mais j'ai soif horrible. Manchette, va chercher de l'eau cerise."

"Oui, madame," replied Manchette, rising from her seat. But she had not quitted the room before Madame de Fontanges had changed her mind.

"Attendez, Manchette. Ce n'est pas ca. Je voudrois de limonade.

Charlotte, va l'en chercher."

"Oui, madame," said Charlotte, leaving the room to execute the order.

"Ah! mon Dieu! qu'il fait une chaleur epouvantable."

"Mimi, que tu es paresseuse? Eventez! vite, vite."

"Ou est Monsieur?"

"Monsieur dort."

"Ah! qu'il est heureux. Et Cupidon--ou est-il?"

"Il est ici au coin, madame. Il boude."

"Qu'est-ce qu'il a fait donc?"

"Ah, madame! Il a vole le dindon roti, et l'a tout mange."

"Ah, le pet.i.t polisson! Venez ici, Cupidon."

Cupidon, the little negro-boy, we have before mentioned, as sitting in the corner of the room, walked up with a very deliberate pace to the side of the ottoman, his two thick lips sticking out about six inches in advance of the remainder of his person.

"Cupidon," said the lady, turning a little on one side to speak to him, "tu as mange le dindon entier. Tu as mal fait, mon ami. Tu seras malade. Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c'est une sottise que tu as fait?"

Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little farther out.

"Sache que tu es un pet.i.t voleur!" continued his mistress.

Cupidon did not condescend to answer.

"Allez, monsieur; ne m'approchez pas."

Cupidon turned short round without reply, and walked back to his corner with the same deliberate pace as before, when he came out of it.

Charlotte now returned with the lemonade for which she had been despatched, and informed her mistress as she presented it, that Nicholas, who had charge of the schooner, had returned with an European prisoner; but that neither he nor Gustave would give her any further information, although she had requested it in the name of her mistress.

This was quite an event, and gave a fillip to the inertness of Madame de Fontanges, whose curiosity was excited.

"A-t'-il bonne mine, Charlotte?"

"Oui, madame, c'est un bel homme."

"Et ou est-il?"

"Avec Nicholas."

"Et Monsieur?"

"Monsieur dort."

"Il faut l'eveiller. Faites bien mes compliments au Monsieur de Fontanges, et dites-lui que je me trouve fort malade, et que je voudrois lui parler. Entends-tu, Celeste; je parle a toi."

"Oui, madame," replied the girl, throwing some orange flowers off her lap, and rising to deliver her message.

Monsieur de Fontanges, who, like most of the Europeans, slept through the hottest portion of the day, rose in compliance with his wife's message, and made his appearance in the boudoir, dressed in a white cotton jacket and trousers. A few polite inquiries after the health of Madame de Fontanges, which, as he had conjectured from similar previous occurrences, was not worse than usual, were followed by his receiving from her the information of Newton's arrival, coupled with an observation, that it would amuse her if the prisoner were interrogated in her presence.

Newton was summoned to the boudoir, where Monsieur de Fontanges, who spoke very good English, received from him the history of his disasters, and translated them into French, to gratify the curiosity of his wife.

"C'est un beau garcon," observed Monsieur de Fontanges. "Mais quoi faire? Il est prisonnier. Il faut l'envoyer a mon frere, le gouverneur."

"Il est joli garcon," replied Madame de Fontanges. "Donnez-lui des habits, Fontanges; et ne l'envoyez pas encore."

"Et pourquoi, mon amie?"

"Je voudrois lui apprendre le Francais."

"Cela ne se peut pas, ma chere; il est prisonnier."