FullReads

She extended hers also, but not to take his. With a calm dexterity that took the General’s breath, she reached between him and the door, and closed it.

“What is the matter?” anxiously asked the General–for her face, in spite of its smile, was severe.

“General,” she began, ignoring his inquiry–and, with all her Creole bows, smiles, and insinuating phrases, the severity of her countenance but partially waned–“I came to see my physician–your son. Ah! General, when I find you reconciled to your son, it makes me think I am in heaven. You will let me say so? You will not be offended with the old playmate of your son?”

She gave him no time to answer.

“He is out, I think, is he not? But I am glad of it. It gives us occasion to rejoice together over his many merits. For you know, General, in all the years of your estrangement, Mossy had no friend like myself. I am proud to tell you so now; is it not so?”

The General was so taken aback that, when he had thanked her in a mechanical way, he could say nothing else. She seemed to fall for a little while into a sad meditation that embarrassed him beyond measure. But as he opened his mouth to speak, she resumed:

“Nobody knew him so well as I; though I, poor me, I could not altogether understand him; for look you, General, he was–what do you think?–a great man!–nothing less.”

“How?” asked the General, not knowing what else to respond.

“You never dreamed of that, eh?” continued the lady. “But, of course not; nobody did but me. Some of those Americains, I suppose, knew it; but who would ever ask them? Here in Royal Street, in New Orleans, where we people know nothing and care nothing but for meat, drink, and pleasure, he was only Dr. Mossy, who gave pills. My faith! General, no wonder you were disappointed in your son, for you thought the same. Ah! yes, you did! But why did you not ask me, his old playmate? I knew better. I could have told you how your little son stood head and shoulders above the crowd. I could have told you some things too wonderful to believe. I could have told you that his name was known and honored in the scientific schools of Paris, of London, of Germany! Yes! I could have shown you”–she warmed as she proceeded–“I could have shown you letters (I begged them of him), written as between brother and brother, from the foremost men of science and discovery!”

She stood up, her eyes flashing with excitement.

“But why did you never tell me?” cried the General.

“He never would allow me–but you–why did you not ask me? I will tell you; you were too proud to mention your son. But he had pride to match yours–ha!–achieving all–every thing–with an assumed name! ‘Let me tell your father,’ I implored him; but–‘let him find me out,’ he said, and you never found him out. Ah! there he was fine. He would not, he said, though only for your sake, re-enter your affections as any thing more or less than just–your son. Ha!”

And so she went on. Twenty times the old General was astonished anew, twenty times was angry or alarmed enough to cry out, but twenty times she would not be interrupted. Once he attempted to laugh, but again her hand commanded silence.

“Behold, Monsieur, all these dusty specimens, these revolting fragments. How have you blushed to know that our idle people laugh in their sleeves at these things! How have you blushed–and you his father! But why did you not ask me? I could have told you: ‘Sir, your son is not an apothecary; not one of these ugly things but has helped him on in the glorious path of discovery; discovery, General–your son–known in Europe as a scientific discoverer!’ Ah-h! the blind people say, ‘How is that, that General Villivicencio should be dissatisfied with his son? He is a good man, and a good doctor, only a little careless, that’s all.’ But you were more blind still, for you shut your eyes tight like this; when, had you searched for his virtues as you did for his faults, you, too, might have known before it was too late what nobility, what beauty, what strength, were in the character of your poor, poor son!”