"There will be no sale," he said.
Mr. Lucian Morrow interrupted.
"And why no sale, Sir?"
"Because there is no slave to sell," replied my father. "This
girl is not the daughter of the octoroon woman, Suzanne."
Zindorf's big jaws tightened.
"How did you know that?" he said.
My father answered with deliberation.
"I would have known it," he said, "from the wording of the paper
you exhibit from Marquette's executors. It is merely a release
of any claim or color of title; the sort of legal paper one
executes when one gives up a right or claim that one has no faith
in. Marquette's executors were the ablest lawyers in New
Orleans. They were not the men to sign away valuable property in
a conveyance like that; that they did sign such a paper is
conclusive evidence to me that they had nothing - and knew they
had nothing - to release by it." He paused.
"I know it also," he said, "because I have before me here the
girl's certificate of birth and Ordez's certificate of marriage."
He opened the silk envelope and took out some faded papers. He
unfolded them and spread them out under his hand.
"I think Ordez feared for his child," he said, "and stored these
papers against the day of danger to her, because they are copies
taken from the records in Havana.
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