guardian
of your sons is, ought to be, in your eyes, more important, more sacred,
than that of Commissary, or any other. If our national Deliverer--if
the conqueror of Italy--if our First Consul himself were here, he ought
to step back while you embrace the guardian of your sons."

The party in the piazza saw and heard all.

"If," said Madame, in a whisper to Genifrede, "if these honours that
they speak of come from Bonaparte--if he has answered your father's
letter, your father will think his happiness complete--now we know that
the boys are well."

"The First Consul has written, or will write, no doubt," said Aimee.
"It must be pleasant to him as to my father, to greet a brother in
destiny and in glory. Surely General Vincent will come and speak to us;
will tell us of my brothers! He looked this way just now."

"The First Consul will not write," said Moyse. "He is a white; and
therefore, though a brother in destiny and in glory, he will not notice
the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo."

"You are right, Moyse," said Madame Dessalines. "And it is best so."

"But that will disappoint my husband very much," said Madame. "He likes
the whites better than you do."

"He does," said Therese. "But let us listen."

Hedouville was at the moment exerting himself to introduce his
secretary, Monsieur Pascal.

"An honoured name," observed Toussaint.

"And not only in name, but by blood connected with the great man you
refer to," said Hedouville.

"None are more welcome here," said Toussaint, "than those who bring with
them the honours of piety, of reason, and of science." And he looked
with deep interest upon the countenance of the secretary, which did in
truth show signs of that thoughtfulness and sagacity, though not of the
morbid suffering, which is associated in all minds with the image of the
author of the Provinciales. Monsieur Pascal returned the gaze which was
fixed upon him with one in which intense curiosity was mingled with
doubt, if not fear. His countenance immediately, however, relaxed into
an expression of pleased surprise. During this brief moment, these two
men, so unlike--the elderly, toil-worn negro, and the young, studious
Frenchman--felt that they were friends.

Monsieur Pascal stepped aside to make way for Monsieur Moliere.

"Are we to welcome in you," asked Toussaint, "a messenger of mirth to
our society?"

The group of Frenchmen could scarcely restrain their laughter at this
qu