blow. "But dat's jest wat she am, sah, an' a heap sweeter dan de
vi'lets in de springtime, sah."

"And she actually told you my name?"

"Yas, sah, she did dat fer suah--'Massa Geoffrey Benteen, an Englisher
from up de ribber,' dem was her bery words; but somehow I done
disremember jest persactly de place."

For another moment I hesitated, scarcely daring to utter the one vital
question trembling on my lips.

"But who is the lady? What is her name?" As I put the simple query I
felt my voice tremble in spite of every effort to hold it firm.

"Madame de Noyan, sah; one ob de bery first famblies. Massa de Noyan
am one ob de Bienvilles, sah."

"De Noyan? De Noyan?" I repeated the unfamiliar name over slowly, with
a feeling of relief. "Most certainly I never before heard other."

"I dunno nothin' 'tall 'bout dat, Massa, but suah's you born dat am her
name and Massa's; an' you is de bery man she done sent me after, fer I
nebber onct took my eyes off you all dis time."

There remained no reasonable doubt as to the fellow's sincerity. His
face was a picture of disinterested earnestness as he fronted me; yet I
hesitated, eying him closely, half inclined to think him the
unsuspecting representative of some rogue. That was a time and place
where one of my birth needed to practise caution; racial rivalry ran so