In the early morning, before taking his departure, he was permitted to see Esmée. She was overcome with sorrow, which he could hardly hope to assuage, even with the keen sympathy which he felt. "And may I be permitted to ask, Mademoiselle, what will be your plans for the future?" "Oh," she moaned, "I cannot any longer remain upon the ole plantation, which would not be home without grandpère. I suppose I shall go to live in New Orleans with my _tante_ Clémentine." The last was spoken in the depths of her handkerchief. Bartner's heart bounded at this intelligence in a manner which he could not but feel was one of unbecoming levity. He pressed her disengaged hand warmly, and went away. The sun was again shining brightly, but the morning was crisp and cool; a thin wafer of ice covered what had yesterday been pools or water in the road. Bartner buttoned his coat about him closely. The shrill whistles of steam cotton-gins sounded here and there. One or two shivering negroes were in the field gathering what shreds of cotton were left on the dry, naked stalks. The horses snorted with satisfaction, and their strong hoof-beats rang out against the hard ground. "Urge the horses," Bartner said; "they 've had a good rest and we want to push on to Natchitoches." "You right, suh. We done los' a whole blesse' day,--a plumb day." "Why, so we have," said Bartner, "I had n't thought of it." A RUDE AWAKENING. "Take de do' an' go! You year me? Take de do'!" Lolotte's brown eyes flamed. Her small frame quivered. She stood with her back turned to a meagre supper-table, as if to guard it from the man who had just entered the cabin. She pointed toward the door, to order him from the house. "You mighty cross to-night, Lolotte. You mus' got up wid de wrong foot to's mo'nin'. _Hein_, Veveste? _hein_, Jacques, w'at you say?" The two small urchins who sat at table giggled in sympathy with their father's evident good humor. "I'm we' out, me!" the girl exclaimed, desperately, as she let her arms fall limp at her side. "Work, work! Fu w'at? Fu feed de lazies' man in Natchitoches pa'ish." "Now, Lolotte, you think w'at you say in'," expostulated her father. "Sylveste Bordon don' ax nobody to feed 'im." "W'en you brought a poun' of suga in de house?" his daughter retorted hotly, "or a poun' of coffee? W'en did you brought a piece o' meat home, you? An' Nonomme all de time sick. Co'n bread an' po'k, dat's good fu Veveste an' me an' Jacques; but Nonomme? no!" She turned as if choking, and cut into the round, soggy "pone" of corn bread which was the main feature of the scanty supper. "Po' li'le Nonomme; we mus' fine some'in' to break dat fevah. You want to kill a chicken once a w'ile fu Nonomme, Lolotte." He calmly seated himself at the table.