has not answered my father's letters. Monsieur
Vincent doubts not that an answer is on the way. Remember, my brothers
have been invited to his table."

"There are blacks in Paris, who look on," replied Moyse, drily.

"And are there not whites too, from this island, who watch every
movement?"

"Yes: and those whites are in the private closet, at the very ear of
Bonaparte, whispering to him of L'Ouverture's ambition; while your
brothers penetrate no further than the saloon."

"My brothers would lay down their lives for Bonaparte and France," said
Aimee; "and you speak treason. I am with them."

"And with me," said Vincent, in a whisper at her ear. "Where I find the
loyal heart in woman, mine is ever loyal too."

Aimee was too much excited to understand in this what was meant. She
went on--

"Here is Monsieur Vincent, of our own race, who has lived here and at
Paris--who has loved my father.--You love my father and his government?"
she said, with questioning eyes, interrupting herself.

"Certainly. No man is more devoted to L'Ouverture."

"Devoted to my father," pursued Aimee, "and yet devoted to Bonaparte.
He is above the rivalry of races--as the First Consul is, and as Isaac
is."

"Isaac and the First Consul--these are the idols of Aimee's worship,"
said Genifrede. "Worship Isaac still; for that is a harmless idolatry;
but give up your new religion, Aimee; for it is not sound."

"Why not sound? How do you know that it is not sound?"

"When have the blacks ever trusted the whites without finding themselves
bound victims in the end?"

"I have," said Vincent. "I have lived among them a life of charms, and
I am free," he continued, stretching his arms to the air--"free to
embrace the knees of both Bonaparte and L'Ouverture--free to embrace the
world."

"The end has not come yet," said Moyse.

"What end?" asked Aimee.

"Nay, God knows what end, if we trust the French."

"You speak from prejudice," said Aimee. "Monsieur Vincent and my
brothers judge from facts."

"We speak from facts," said Genifrede; "from, let us see--from seven--
no, eight, very ugly facts."

"The eight Commissaries that the colony has been blessed with," said
Moyse. "If they had taken that monkey which is looking down at your
drawing, Aimee, and seven of its brethren, and installed them at Cap,
they would have done us all the good the Commissaries have done, and far
less mischief. The monkeys would have broken the mirro