Bras-Coupe was taking her hand in one of his and laying his other upon her head; and as some one made an unnecessary gesture for silence, he sang, beating slow and solemn time with his naked foot and with the hand that dropped hers to smite his breast: "'_En haut la montagne, zami, Mo pe coupe canne, zami, Pou' fe l'a'zen' zami, Pou' mo baille Palmyre.
Ah! Palmyre, Palmyre mo c'ere, Mo l'aime 'ou'-- mo l'aime 'ou'_.'" "_Montagne ?_" asked one slave of another, "_qui est ca, montagne?
gnia pas quic 'ose comme ca dans la Louisiana ?_ (What's a mountain ?" We haven't such things in Louisiana.)" "_Mein ye gagnein plein montagnes dans l'Afrique_, listen!" "'_Ah! Palmyre, Palmyre, mo' piti zozo,' Mo l'aime 'ou'-- mo l'aime, l'aime 'ou'_.'" "Bravissimo!--" but just then a counter-attraction drew the white company back into the house.

An old French priest with sandalled feet and a dirty face had arrived.

There was a moment of handshaking with the good father, then a moment of palpitation and holding of the breath, and then--you would have known it by the turning away of two or three feminine heads in tears--the lily hand became the don's, to have and to hold, by authority of the Church and the Spanish king.

And all was merry, save that outside there was coming up as villanous a night as ever cast black looks in through snug windows.
It was just as the newly-wed Spaniard, with Agricola and all the guests, were concluding the byplay of marrying the darker couple, that the hurricane struck the dwelling.

The holy and jovial father had made faint pretence of kissing this second bride; the ladies, colonels, dons, etc.,--though the joke struck them as a trifle coarse--were beginning to laugh and clap hands again and the gowned jester to bow to right and left, when Bras-Coupe, tardily realizing the consummation of his hopes, stepped forward to embrace his wife.
"Bras-Coupe!" The voice was that of Palmyre's mistress.