_Pete._ Hole yer tongue, Dido. Whar's de coffee? [_Pours out._] If it don't stain de cup, your wicked ole life's in danger, sure! dat right! black as nigger; clar as ice. You may drink dat, Mas'r George. [_Looks off._] Yah! here's Mas'r Sunnyside, and Missey Dora, jist drov up. Some of you niggers run and hole de hosses; and take dis, Dido. [_Gives her coffee-pot to hold, and hobbles off, followed by_ Solon _and_ Dido, R. U. E.] _Enter_ Sunnyside _and_ Dora, R. U. E. _Sunny._ Good day, ma'am. [_Shakes hands with_ George.] I see we are just in time for breakfast. [_Sits,_ R.] _Dora._ O, none for me; I never eat. [_Sits,_ R. C.] _George._ [_Aside._] They do not notice Zoe.--[_Aloud._] You don't see Zoe, Mr. Sunnyside. _Sunny._ Ah! Zoe, girl; are you there? _Dora._ Take my shawl, Zoe. [Zoe _helps her._] What a good creature she is. _Sunny._ I dare say, now, that in Europe you have never met any lady more beautiful in person, or more polished in manners, than that girl. _George._ You are right, sir; though I shrank from expressing that opinion in her presence, so bluntly. _Sunny._ Why so? _George._ It may be considered offensive. _Sunny._ [_Astonished._] What? I say, Zoe, do you hear that? _Dora._ Mr. Peyton is joking. _Mrs. P._ [L. C.] My nephew is not acquainted with our customs in Louisiana, but he will soon understand. _George._ Never, aunt! I shall never understand how to wound the feelings of any lady; and, if that is the custom here, I shall never acquire it. _Dora._ Zoe, my dear, what does he mean? _Zoe._ I don't know. _George._ Excuse me, I'll light a cigar. [_Goes up._] _Dora._ [_Aside to_ Zoe.] Isn't he sweet! O, dear Zoe, is he in love with anybody? _Zoe._ How can I tell? _Dora._ Ask him, I want to know; don't say I told you to inquire, but find out. Minnie, fan me, it is so nice--and his clothes are French, ain't they? _Zoe._ I think so; shall I ask him that too? _Dora._ No, dear. I wish he would make love to me. When he speaks to one he does it so easy, so gentle; it isn't bar-room style; love lined with drinks, sighs tinged with tobacco--and they say all the women in Paris were in love with him, which I feel _I_ shall be; stop fanning me; what nice boots he wears. _Sunny._ [_To_ Mrs. Peyton.] Yes, ma'am, I hold a mortgage over Terrebonne; mine's a ninth, and pretty near covers all the property, except the slaves. I believe Mr. M'Closky has a bill of sale on them. O, here he is. _Enter_ M'Closky, R. U. E. _Sunny._ Good morning, Mr. M'Closky. _M'Closky._ Good morning, Mr. Sunnyside; Miss Dora, your servant. _Dora._ [_Seated,_ R. C.] Fan me, Minnie.--[_Aside._] I don't like that man. _M'Closky._ [_Aside,_ C.] Insolent as usual.--[_Aloud._] You begged me to call this morning. I hope I'm not intruding. _Mrs. P._ My nephew, Mr. Peyton.