The day now drawing to a close, she turned her steps toward her wonted crouching-place, the willow avenue on the levee, near the Place d'Armes.

But she had hardly defined this decision clearly in her mind, and had but just turned out of the rue St.Louis, when her song attracted an ear in a second-story room under whose window she was passing.

As usual, it was fitted to the passing event: "_Apportez moi mo' sabre, Ba boum, ba boum, boum, boum_." "Run, fetch that girl here," said Dr.Keene to the slave woman who had just entered his room with a pitcher of water.
"Well, old eavesdropper," he said, as Clemence came, "what is the scandal to-day ?" Clemence laughed.
"You know, Mawse Chawlie, I dunno noth'n' 'tall 'bout nobody.

I'se a nigga w'at mine my own business." "Sit down there on that stool, and tell me what is going on outside." "I d' no noth'n' 'bout no goin's on; got no time fo' sit down, me; got sell my cakes.

I don't goin' git mix' in wid no white folks's doin's." "Hush, you old hypocrite; I will buy all your cakes.