University of Virginia Library

2. II.

Our story is laid in New Orleans at the close of the
year 1793. The city, during the ascendancy of Robespierre,
became the refuge of many of the oldest
families of the ancien régime. The young Baron
Championet left Paris in disguise, just five minutes
before the myrmidons of Robespierre entered his
hotel. The ship in which he took passage at Havre,
arrived at the levee in New Orleans as the bell was
ringing for mass. Stepping on shore, he fell gradually
into the moving current of people, and was borne towards
the Cathedral. He entered it with the rest—for
he bethought him, as its venerable towers met his
eye, that he would return thanks for his safe passage.
Eugenie Championet was a Roman Catholic; and like
all of his sect, he never neglected the outward signs of his
faith, whether his heart was religiously disposed or not.

In company with half a dozen others of every hue
and degree, the young baron dipped the tip of his
fingers in the marble vase of holy water by the staircase;
reverently made the sign of the cross on his forehead
and breast; and kneeling among slaves and artisans,
maidens and matrons, he bowed to the earth as

the Host was elevated, and mingling his own with
thousand tongues, worshipped this visible presence of
the Redeemer. Having disburthened his heart of its
weight of gratitude, he rose to his feet and gazed
about him. Presently an object nearer the altar arrested
and fixed his eye. With his chapeau bras beneath
his arm, and pressing his sword close to his side
to avoid entangling it among the throng of scarfs,
veils, and roquelaures, he slowly edged his way to the
upper extremity of the cathedral, and stopped with
his eyes resting on the most faultless female figure he
thought he had ever beheld. His practised glance had
singled her out from her station near the door, and
although he passed a score of houris, that opened their
large black eyes, and were ready to fall in love with
him, he took not his eyes from her he sought till he
came where she stood. Her face was turned from
him, and her fingers clasped a prayer book on which
she seemed too intent to look up. She stood so close
to the altar, that, without subjecting his movements
to particular observation, if not remark, he was unable
to get a sight of her features. That she must be
very lovely, the faultless proportions of her truly
feminine figure gave him no room to doubt.