And at the narrow opening of the wicket appeared the pale, flat face of
Jacques Ferrand; his eyes sparkled in the shade.

Cecily, silent until then, began to sing softly in Creole French, a
Louisianian air. The words of this melody were soft and expressive.
Although restrained, the noble contralto overpowered the noise of the
torrents of rain and violent gusts of wind, which seemed to shake the old
house to its foundation.

"Cecily! Cecily!" repeated Jacques Ferrand, in a supplicating tone.

The Creole suddenly stopped, turned her head quickly, and appeared to hear
for the first time the voice of the notary, and approached the door. "How!
dear master, you are there?" said she, with a slight foreign accent, which
gave additional charm to her melodious voice.

"Oh! how handsome you are!" murmured the notary.

"You think so?" answered the Creole: "this bandana suits my hair?"

"Every day I find you still more handsome."

"And see how white my arm is."

"Monster! go away! go away!" cried Jacques Ferrand, furiously.

Cecily laughed immoderately.

"No, no, this is suffering too much! Oh! if I did not fear death!" cried
the notary, in a hollow voice; "but to die--to renounce the sight of you,