There was
the lodge, with its iron gates shut, and the wall which Nick had
threatened to climb. As I passed the great square of the new barracks, a
sereno (so the night watchmen were called) was crying the hour. I came
to the rambling market-stalls, casting black shadows on the river
road,--empty now, to be filled in the morning with shouting marchands.
The promenade under the willows was deserted, the great river stretched
away under the moon towards the forest line of the farther shore, filmy
and indistinct. A black wisp of smoke rose from the gunwale of a
flatboat, and I stopped to listen to the weird song of a negro, which I
have heard many times since.
CAROLINE.
In, de, tois, Ca-ro-line, Qui ci ca ye, comme ca ma chere? In, de
tois, Ca-ro-line, Quo fair t'-apes cri--e ma chere? Mo l'-aime
toe con-ne ca, C'est to m'ou--le, c'est to mo prend, Mo l'-aime toe,
to con-ne ca--a c'est to m'oule c'est to mo prend.
Gaining the promenade, I came presently to the new hotel which had been
built for the Governor, with its balconied windows looking across the
river--the mansion of Monsieur le Baron de Carondelet. Even as I sat on
the bench in the shadow of the willows, watching the sentry who paced
before the arched entrance, I caught sight of a man stealing along the
banquette on the other side of the road.
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