Whatever struggle she had endured in these few brief moments, she had conquered herself once more, and her face, though pale as death, was calm as that of a statue. "Listen to me, Camillia Moraquitos," repeated the planter, resting his hand upon the back of her chair and addressing her with deliberate and icy distinctness. "I sought to wed you for your beauty, your aristocratic bearing, and your wealth. You, amidst all the beauties of Louisiana, were the only woman whom I should have wished to place at the head of my table--to make the mistress of my house. Your beauty would have been mine--a part of my possessions; my pride, my boast. It would have pleased me to see you haughty and capricious--treading the earth as if the soil were scarcely good enough to be trodden by your Andalusian foot. Your wealth would have swelled my own large fortune, and made me the richest man in New Orleans. This, then, is why I sought to wed you. This is why I seek to wed you still." "And more vainly now than ever," murmured Camillia. "Not so fast, lady; we will test your resolution by-and-by. I have told you why I wooed you, but I have something yet more to tell you." "I am listening, sir." "I never loved you! No, beautiful as you are, I can gaze with rapture upon your gorgeous face, but it is the rapture of an artist who beholds a priceless picture in some Italian gallery. I admire, and that is all. No throb of warmer emotion disturbs the even beating of my heart. I love--but, like yourself, who have stooped to bestow your affection upon the obscure and penniless dependent of your father--I love one below me in station--below me so infinitely that even were I so weak a fool as to wish it, the laws of New Orleans would not permit me to make her my wife. I love a daughter of the accursed race--a slave--an Octoroon." "What motive, then, could you have in bringing me hither?" said Camillia. "What motive!" exclaimed the planter; "A motive far stronger than love--that motive is revenge. You have insulted me, Donna Camillia, and you have to learn that none ever yet dared to insult Augustus Horton with impunity. I threaten no terrible punishment," he added, looking at his watch; "it is now two o'clock; when the morning sun rises upon New Orleans, and the streets begin to fill with traffic, I will reconduct you to the Villa Moraquitos. You will suffer from this night's business in no other way save one, and that is your reputation, which you can only repair by accepting your humble servant as a husband." "Coward, dastard, do you think I will ever consent to this?" "I think on reflection you will see the prudence of doing so." For a few moments Camillia remained silent, then, turning upon the planter with a sudden energy that threw him completely off his guard, she exclaimed: "Augustus Horton, you talk to me of prudence. Shall I tell you what you will do if you are wise." "Yes, Donna Camillia. I am all attention."