A slight sound is heard behind the tapestry forming the _portiere_, 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.