A Romance of the West Indies. Эжен Сю

rumples up his black locks, gives him a little blow on the cheek, and says, "That is how I love you, Monsieur Hurricane."

      A slight sound is heard behind the tapestry forming the portière, and Angela calls, "Is it you, Mirette? what do you wish?"

      "Madame, I am coming with the flowers and will arrange them in the stand."

      "She hears us!" said Angela, making a mysterious signal to the mulatto; then she amuses herself laughing madly at and rumpling her lover's hair. He takes her little caprices with complaisance, and contemplates her with love. Then he says, smilingly,

      "Child! because you look only sixteen, you think everything is permitted you." Then he adds in a tone of gentle raillery, "and who would think, seeing this little rosy, ingenuous face that I hold on my knees the most notable scamp of the Antilles?"

      "And who would think that this man, who speaks in so sweet a voice, is the ferocious Captain Hurricane, the terror of England and Spain?" cried Angela, breaking into a laugh. The mulatto and the widow express themselves in the purest French, and without the slightest foreign accent.

      "What matters it," she cries, smilingly, "it is not I whom they call Blue Beard."

      At these words which appear to call up sad memories, the little widow, with a coquettish pout, gave a hardly perceptible tap to the end of Captain Hurricane's nose, indicating by a movement of her hand that in the neighboring room one can hear him, and says with a mischievous air, "That will teach you to speak of trespassing."

      "Fie! the monster!" says the captain, breaking into a laugh; "and what of remorse, then, madame?"

      "Give me a kiss of remorse, then, and I shall – "

      "May Lucifer assist me! It takes a woman to be chief of criminals! Ah, my dear, you are well named; you make me tremble! Suppose we have supper."

      Angela touches a bell. The young mulattress who had overheard the above conversation enters. She wears a dress of white linen with bright stripes, and has silver rings on arms and ankles.

      "Mirette, have you arranged the flowers," said Blue Beard.

      "Yes, madame."

      "You have been listening?"

      "No, madame."

      "However, it does not matter; when I speak it is that I may be heard. Make ready the supper, Mirette."

      Then, addressing herself to the captain, "What wine do you prefer?"

      "Sherry, but let it be iced; this is a notion of mine."

      Mirette goes out for a moment, and shortly reappears and begins to prepare the table.

      "By the way, I forgot to tell you of a great event," says Blue Beard's companion.

      "What then? has one of my deceased husbands returned to life?"

      "Faith, almost."

      "Now? Ah, Master James, Master James, no more of your wicked pleasantries," cries Angela, with a frightened air.

      "No, it is not a dead man, a ghost, but a very living pretender who demands your hand in marriage."

      "He wishes to marry me?"

      "He wishes to marry you."

      "Oh, the unhappy wretch! is he then weary of life?" cried Angela, laughing.

      Mirette, at these words, makes the sign of the cross while superintending the spreading of the board by two other mulattresses who are carrying bottles of Bohemian glass, engraved with golden arabesques, and plates of the most magnificent Japanese porcelain.

      Blue Beard continues, "This lover of mine is not a countryman, then?"

      "By no means! for in spite of your wealth, my dear, I defy you to find a fourth husband, thanks to your diabolical reputation."

      "Where does he come from, this would-be husband, my dear James?"

      "From France."

      "France! he comes from France to espouse me, the deuce!"

      "Angela, you know that I do not like to hear you swear," says the mulatto, with pretended seriousness.

      "Pardon, Captain Hurricane," replies the young woman, dropping her eyes with a hypocritical air. "I only meant to signify that I find your news very astonishing. It appears that my reputation has reached Europe."

      "Do not be so vain, my dear. It was on board the Unicorn that this worthy paladin heard you spoken of, and by the mere mention of your riches he has become enamored, yes, madly enamored of you. This, I trust, will take down your pride."

      "The impertinent fellow! and who is this man, James?"

      "The Chevalier de Croustillac."

      "Who?"

      "The Chevalier de Croustillac."

      "This is the name of the pretender to my hand?" And Angela breaks into a merry peal of laughter which nothing can arrest, and the mulatto finally joins in her merriment.

      The two have scarcely subsided when Mirette enters preceded by two other mulattresses who carry a table sumptuously set out in gilded dishes. The two slaves place the table near the divan; the captain arises to take a chair, while Angela, kneeling on the edge of the sofa, uncovers the dishes one after another, and examines the table with the air of an epicurean kitten.

      "Are you hungry, James? As for me, I am famished," says Angela. And as if to prove without doubt this assertion, she opens her coral lips and shows two rows of ravishing little pearly teeth which she clinches twice.

      "Angela, my dear, you were certainly badly brought up," said the captain, helping her to a portion of dorado, served with ham and an appetizing sauce.

      "Captain Hurricane, if I receive you at my table, it is not that you may scold," said Angela, making an almost imperceptible grimace to the mulattress. Then she continues, attacking her fish bravely, and pecking at her bread like a bird, "If he scolds me, Mirette, I will not receive him again?"

      "No, mistress," said Mirette.

      "And I will give his place to Rend-your-soul, the buccaneer?"

      "Yes, mistress."

      "Or to Youmäale, the cannibal?"

      "Yes, mistress."

      "You hear that, sir?" said Angela.

      "Never mind, my dear, I am not jealous, you know that; beauty is as the sun, it shines for all the world."

      "Because you are not jealous, then, I will pardon you. Help yourself to what is before you. What is that, Mirette?"

      "Madame, the roe of fish fried in pigeon's fat."

      "Which is not equal to the fat of quail," says the captain, "but it must have the juice of a lemon while it is warm."

      "See what a glutton! Ah! but my future spouse, I had forgotten him. Pour me some wine, Mirette."

      The filibuster, corsair as he is, forestalls the mulattress and pours out some iced sherry for Angela.

      "It must be that I love you, to drink this, I who prefer the wines of France." And Blue Beard drinks resolutely three drops of the sherry, which puts fresh life into her lips and blue eyes and tinged her cheeks a carmine hue.

      "But to return to my future spouse. How is he? Is he agreeable? Is he worthy to join the others?"

      Mirette, in spite of her passive submission, cannot prevent a tremor in hearing her mistress speak thus, although the poor slave must be accustomed to these atrocious pleasantries, and doubtless many greater enormities.

      "What ails you, Mirette?"

      "Nothing, mistress."

      "If you are unwell – "

      "No, mistress."

      "You would be sorry to see me marry again? I shall not do so for a long time. Go, child." Then, addressing Captain Hurricane, "And the Chevalier de – de – what did you say was his name?"

      "Chevalier de Croustillac."

      "Have you seen him?"

      "No;