"You did what?" I asked.
"I done kissed one of dem yaller gals, Marse Dave. Yass'r, I done kissed
M'lisse."
"Do you think Melisse would do something for you if you asked her?" I
inquired.
Benjy seemed hurt.
"Marse Dave--" he began reproachfully.
"Very well, then," I interrupted, taking the letter from my pocket,
"there is a lady who is ill here, Mrs. Clive--"
I paused, for a new look had come into Benjy's eyes. He began that
peculiar, sympathetic laugh of the negro, which catches and doubles on
itself, and I imagined that a new admiration for me dawned on his face.
"Yass'r, yass, Marse Dave, I reckon M'lisse 'll git it to her 'thout any
one tekin' notice."
I bit my lips.
"If Mrs. Clive receives this within an hour, Melisse shall have one
piastre, and you another. There is an answer."
Benjy took the note, and departed nimbly to find Melisse, while I paced
up and down in my uneasiness as to the outcome of the experiment. A
quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, and then I saw Benjy coming
through the trees. He stood before me, chuckling, and drew from his
pocket a folded piece of paper. I gave him the two piastres, warned him
if his master or any one inquired for me that I was taking a walk, and
bade him begone. Then I opened the note.
"I will meet you at the bayou, at seven this evening.
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