Chapter XI

While Cyrillia is busy with her _canari_, she talks to herself or sings. She has a low rich voice,--sings strange things, things that have been forgotten by this generation,--creole songs of the old days, having a weird rhythm and fractions of tones that are surely African. But more generally she talks to herself, as all the Martiniquaises do: it is a continual murmur as of a stream. At first I used to think she was talking to somebody else, and would call out:--

--"_Épi quiless moune ça ou ka pàlé-à?_"

But she would always answer:--"_Moin ka pàlé anni cò moin_" (I am only talking to my own body), which is the creole expression for talking to oneself.

--"And what are you talking so much to your own body about, Cyrillia?"

--"I am talking about my own little affairs" (_ti zaffai-moin_).... That is all that I could ever draw from her.

But when not working, she will sit for hours looking out of the window. In this she resembles the kitten: both seem to find the same silent pleasure in watching the street, or the green heights that rise above its roofs,--the Morne d'Orange. Occasionally at such times she will break the silence in the strangest way, if she thinks I am not too busy with my papers to answer a question:--

--"_Missié?_"--timidly.

--"Eh?"

--"_Di moin, chè, ti manmaille dans pays ou, toutt piti, piti,--ess ça pàlé Anglais?_" (Do the little children in my country--the very, very little children--talk English?)

--"Why, certainly, Cyrillia."

--"_Toutt piti, piti?_"--with growing surprise.

--"Why, of course!"

--"_C'est drôle, ça_" (It is queer, that!) She cannot understand it.

--"And the little _manmaille_ in Martinique, Cyrillia--_toutt piti, piti_,--don't they talk creole?"

--"'_Oui; mais toutt moune ka pâlé nègue: ça facile_." (Yes; but anybody can talk negro--that is easy to learn.)