ren."

"It is. And it is good for our race. It is to make us their servants.
Oh! Margot, if ever you find a thought of pride stirring at your heart,
remember that if the blacks were less ignorant and more wise, it would
not matter whether we lived as we used to do, or as we live now. It is
because we negroes are vain and corrupted, that show and state are
necessary: and the sight of our show and state should, therefore, humble
us."

"I am sure you are not fond of show and state. You eat and drink, and
wait upon yourself, as you did at Breda; and your uniform is the only
fine dress you like to wear. I am sure you had rather have no court."

"Very true. I submit to such state as we have about us, for the sake of
the negroes who need it. To me it is a sacrifice; but, Margot, we must
make sacrifices--perhaps some which you may little dream of, while
looking round upon our possessions, and our rank, and our children,
worshipped as they are. We must carry the same spirit of sacrifice into
all our acts; and be ready to suffer, and perhaps to fall, for the sake
of the blacks. The less pride now, Margot, the less shame and sorrow
then!"

"I wish not to be proud," said Margot, trembling--"I pray that I may not
be proud; but it is difficult--Hark! there is a footstep! Let us turn
into this alley."

"Nay," said Toussaint; "it is Monsieur Pascal. No doubt I am wanted."

"For ever wanted!" exclaimed Margot. "No peace!"

"It was not so at Breda," said Toussaint, smiling. "I was just speaking
of sacrifice, you know: and this is not the last night that the moon
will shine.--News, Monsieur Pascal?"

"News from Cap," replied Monsieur Pascal, in a depressed tone. "Bad
news! Here are dispatches. Not a moment is to be lost."

"There is light enough," said Toussaint, turning so that the moonlight
fell upon the page.

While he read, Monsieur Pascal told Madame L'Ouverture that messengers
had brought news of a quarrel at Cap--a quarrel between the races,
unhappily, about Hedouville's proclamation again;--a quarrel in which
several whites had been killed. All was presently quiet; but the whites
were crying out for vengeance.

"No peace, as you say, Margot," observed Toussaint, when he had run over
the letters. "See what a strong hand and watchful eye our poor people
require! The curse of slavery is still upon us."

"How is Moyse? Tell me only that. What is Moyse doing?"

"I do not understand Moyse, nor what