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me smiled, partly at the apothecary's brief speech, but much more at his success. "Let him go, Mr. Frowenfeld," he said, as he came near. The silent man turned away his face with a gesture of shame. M. Grandissime, in a gentle voice, exchanged a few words with him, and he turned and walked away, gained the shore, descended the levee, and took a foot-path which soon hid him behind a hedge. "He gives his pledge not to try again," said the Creole, as the two companions proceeded to resume the saddle. "Do not look after him." (Joseph had cast a searching look over the hedge.) They turned homeward. "Ah! Mr. Frowenfeld," said the Creole, suddenly, "if the _immygrant_ has cause of complaint, how much more has _that_ man! True, it is only love for which he would have just now drowned himself; yet what an accusation, my-de'-seh, is his whole life against that 'caste' which shuts him up within its narrow and almost solitary limits! And yet, Mr. Frowenfeld, this people esteem this very same crime of caste the holiest and most precious of their virtues. My-de'-seh, it never occurs to us that in this matter we are interested, and therefore disqualified, witnesses. We say we are not understood; that the jury (the civilized world) renders its decision without viewing the body; that we are judged from a distance. We forget that we ourselves are too _close_ to see distinctly, and so continue, a spectacle to civilization, sitting in a horrible darkness, my-de'-seh!" He frowned. "The shadow of the Ethiopian," said the grave apothecary. M. Grandissime's quick gesture implied that Frowenfeld had said the very word. "Ah! my-de'-seh, when I try sometimes to stand outside and look at it, I am _ama-aze_ at the length, the blackness of that shadow!" (He was so deeply in earnest that he took no care of his English.) "It is the _Nemesis_ w'ich, instead of coming afteh, glides along by the side of this morhal, political, commercial, social mistake! It blanches, my-de'-seh, ow whole civilization! It drhags us a centurhy behind the rhes' of the world! It rhetahds and poisons everhy industrhy we got!--mos' of all our-h immense agrhicultu'e! It brheeds a thousan' cusses that nevva leave home but jus' flutter-h up an' rhoost, my-de'-seh, on ow _heads_; an' we nevva know it!--yes, sometimes some of us know it." He changed the subject. They had repassed the ruins of Fort St. Louis, and were well within the precincts of the little
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