cerning the new constitution
framed by the Assembly. I told him that it should be put in force
provisionally, till the pleasure of his government is made known."

"Oh, then, that must bring an answer."

Toussaint was silent.

"He must send some sort of answer to that," pursued Margot. "What
answer do you think it will be?"

"You remember the great eagle that I shot, when we lived under the
mountains, Margot? Do you remember how the kids played in the pasture,
with the shadow of that huge eagle floating above them?"

Margot, trembling, pressed closer to her husband's side.

"You saw to-day," he continued, "that troop of gay dolphins, in the
smooth sea beyond the island. You saw the shark, with its glaring eyes,
opening its monstrous jaws, as it rose near the pretty creatures, and
hovered about them."

"But you shot the eagle," cried Margot; "and Denis wounded the shark."

"Heaven only knows how it may end with us," said Toussaint; "but we have
the shadow of Bonaparte's jealousy over us, and danger all about us.
The greater our prosperity, the more certain is it to bring all France
down upon us."

"Oh, can Bonaparte be so cruel?"

"I do not blame him for this our danger; and any future woe must all go
to the account of our former slavery. We negroes are ignorant, and have
been made loose, deceitful, and idle, by slavery. The whites have been
made tyrannical and unjust, by being masters. They believe us now
ambitious, rebellious, and revengeful, because it would be no wonder if
we were so. All this injustice comes of our former slavery. God forbid
that I should be unjust too, and lay the blame where it is not due! For
nothing done or feared in Saint Domingo do I blame Bonaparte."

"Then you think--Oh! say you think there is no danger for Placide and
Isaac. Bonaparte is so kind to them! Surely Placide and Isaac can be
in no danger!"

"There is no fear for their present safety, my love."

Toussaint would not for the world have told of his frequent daily
thought and nightly dream, as to what might be the fate of these
hostages, deliberately sent to France, and deliberately left there now.
He would not subject himself to entreaties respecting their return which
he dared not listen to, now that their recall would most certainly
excite suspicions of the fidelity of the blacks. Not to save his
children would L'Ouverture do an act to excite or confirm any distrust
of his people.

"Bonaparte is kind t