Chita-A Memory of Last Island [19]
kissed his black moustache.
He spoke to her again:--
--"Dis moin to nom, piti;--dis moin to nom, chere."
Then, for the first time, she spoke, answering in her argent treble:
--"Zouzoune."
All held their breath. Captain Harris lifted his finger to his lips to command silence.
--"Zouzoune? Zouzoune qui, chere?"
--"Zouzoune, a c'est moin, Lili!"
--"C'est pas tout to nom, Lili;--dis moin, chere, to laut nom."
--"Mo pas connin laut nom. "
--"Comment ye te pele to maman, piti?"
--"Maman,--Maman 'Dele."
--"Et comment ye te pele to papa, chere?"
--"Papa Zulien."
--"Bon! Et comment to maman te pele to papa?--dis ca a moin, chere?"
The child looked down, put a finger in her mouth, thought a moment, and replied:--
--"Li pele li, 'Cheri'; li pele li, 'Papoute.'"
--"Aie, aie!--c'est tout, ca?--to maman te jamain pele li daut' chose?"
--"Mo pas connin, moin."
She began to play with some trinkets attached to his watch chain;--a very small gold compass especially impressed her fancy by the trembling and flashing of its tiny needle, and she murmured, coaxingly:--
--"Mo oule ca! Donnin ca a moin."
He took all possible advantage of the situation, and replied at once:--
-- "Oui! mo va donnin toi ca si to di moin to laut nom."
The splendid bribe evidently impressed her greatly; for tears rose to the brown eyes as she answered:
-- "Mo pas capab di' ca;--mo pas capab di' laut nom ... Mo oule; mo pas capab!"
Laroussel explained. The child's name was Lili,--perhaps a contraction of Eulalie; and her pet Creole name Zouzoune. He thought she must be the daughter of wealthy people; but she could not, for some reason or other, tell her family name. Perhaps she could not pronounce it well, and was afraid of being laughed at: some of the old French names were very hard for Creole children to pronounce, so long as the little ones were indulged in the habit of talking the patois; and after a certain age their mispronunciations would be made fun of in order to accustom them to abandon the idiom of the slave-nurses, and to speak only French. Perhaps, again, she was really unable to recall the name: certain memories might have been blurred in the delicate brain by the shock of that terrible night. She said her mother's name was Adele, and her father's Julien; but these were very common names in Louisiana,--and could afford scarcely any better clew than the innocent statement that her mother used to address her father as "dear" (Cheri),--or with the Creole diminutive "little papa" (Papoute). Then Laroussel tried to reach a clew in other ways, without success. He asked her about where she lived,--what the place was like; and she told him about fig-trees in a court, and galleries, and banquettes, and spoke of a faubou',--without being able to name any street. He asked her what her father used to do, and was assured that he did everything--that there was nothing he could not do. Divine absurdity of childish faith!--infinite artlessness of childish love! ... Probably the little girl's parents had been residents of New Orleans--dwellers of the old colonial quarter,--the faubourg, the faubou'.
-- "Well, gentlemen," said Captain Harris, as Laroussel abandoned his cross-examination in despair,--"all we can do now is to make inquiries. I suppose we'd better leave the child here. She is very weak yet, and in no condition to be taken to the city, right in the middle of the hot season; and nobody could care for her any better than she's being cared for here. Then, again, seems to me that as Feliu saved her life,--and that at the risk of his own,--he's got the prior claim, anyhow; and his wife is just crazy about the child--wants to adopt her. If we can find her relatives so much the better; but I say, gentlemen, let them come right here to Feliu, themselves, and thank him as he ought to be thanked, by God! That's just what I think about it."
Carmen understood the little speech;--all the Spanish charm of her youth had faded out years before; but in the one
He spoke to her again:--
--"Dis moin to nom, piti;--dis moin to nom, chere."
Then, for the first time, she spoke, answering in her argent treble:
--"Zouzoune."
All held their breath. Captain Harris lifted his finger to his lips to command silence.
--"Zouzoune? Zouzoune qui, chere?"
--"Zouzoune, a c'est moin, Lili!"
--"C'est pas tout to nom, Lili;--dis moin, chere, to laut nom."
--"Mo pas connin laut nom. "
--"Comment ye te pele to maman, piti?"
--"Maman,--Maman 'Dele."
--"Et comment ye te pele to papa, chere?"
--"Papa Zulien."
--"Bon! Et comment to maman te pele to papa?--dis ca a moin, chere?"
The child looked down, put a finger in her mouth, thought a moment, and replied:--
--"Li pele li, 'Cheri'; li pele li, 'Papoute.'"
--"Aie, aie!--c'est tout, ca?--to maman te jamain pele li daut' chose?"
--"Mo pas connin, moin."
She began to play with some trinkets attached to his watch chain;--a very small gold compass especially impressed her fancy by the trembling and flashing of its tiny needle, and she murmured, coaxingly:--
--"Mo oule ca! Donnin ca a moin."
He took all possible advantage of the situation, and replied at once:--
-- "Oui! mo va donnin toi ca si to di moin to laut nom."
The splendid bribe evidently impressed her greatly; for tears rose to the brown eyes as she answered:
-- "Mo pas capab di' ca;--mo pas capab di' laut nom ... Mo oule; mo pas capab!"
Laroussel explained. The child's name was Lili,--perhaps a contraction of Eulalie; and her pet Creole name Zouzoune. He thought she must be the daughter of wealthy people; but she could not, for some reason or other, tell her family name. Perhaps she could not pronounce it well, and was afraid of being laughed at: some of the old French names were very hard for Creole children to pronounce, so long as the little ones were indulged in the habit of talking the patois; and after a certain age their mispronunciations would be made fun of in order to accustom them to abandon the idiom of the slave-nurses, and to speak only French. Perhaps, again, she was really unable to recall the name: certain memories might have been blurred in the delicate brain by the shock of that terrible night. She said her mother's name was Adele, and her father's Julien; but these were very common names in Louisiana,--and could afford scarcely any better clew than the innocent statement that her mother used to address her father as "dear" (Cheri),--or with the Creole diminutive "little papa" (Papoute). Then Laroussel tried to reach a clew in other ways, without success. He asked her about where she lived,--what the place was like; and she told him about fig-trees in a court, and galleries, and banquettes, and spoke of a faubou',--without being able to name any street. He asked her what her father used to do, and was assured that he did everything--that there was nothing he could not do. Divine absurdity of childish faith!--infinite artlessness of childish love! ... Probably the little girl's parents had been residents of New Orleans--dwellers of the old colonial quarter,--the faubourg, the faubou'.
-- "Well, gentlemen," said Captain Harris, as Laroussel abandoned his cross-examination in despair,--"all we can do now is to make inquiries. I suppose we'd better leave the child here. She is very weak yet, and in no condition to be taken to the city, right in the middle of the hot season; and nobody could care for her any better than she's being cared for here. Then, again, seems to me that as Feliu saved her life,--and that at the risk of his own,--he's got the prior claim, anyhow; and his wife is just crazy about the child--wants to adopt her. If we can find her relatives so much the better; but I say, gentlemen, let them come right here to Feliu, themselves, and thank him as he ought to be thanked, by God! That's just what I think about it."
Carmen understood the little speech;--all the Spanish charm of her youth had faded out years before; but in the one