en and declared.

The first intimation which the colony at large had of what had happened,
was through the altered demeanour of their chief. From the first bright
day of the prolific, gorgeous summer, to that in which the season merged
in a fierce autumnal storm, L'Ouverture had been seen to be not less
calm and quiet than usual, but depressed and sad. Some ascribed his
gloom to the transaction at Cap, and the misery it must needs have
introduced into his home. Others, who saw how much the colony had
gained in confidence, and Toussaint's government in strength by that
act, looked for a different cause. Some reminded each other that, while
no man was more energetic in the hour of proof than their chief, his
spirits were wont to droop when others were elated. It seemed as if
some boding ghost whispered evil to him most peremptorily when the
harvests were ripest before his eyes, when the laugh and the song were
loudest in his ear, and when no one dreamed that the bright days of the
colony would ever more be overclouded.

It was even so. When Toussaint saw that his race was in peace, it
filled him with grief that this peace was not likely to last. When he
saw what the true African soul was, when cleansed from blood and anger,
and permitted to grow in freedom and in harmony, it was torture to know
(as he did too well) that new injuries were preparing for it--that it
was certain to be again steeped in passion and slaughter, and all that
was savage in it excited afresh. This, even more than the death of
Moyse, cast gloom round his soul, during the last of the series of
bright and prosperous summers that were to pass under his eye. When
autumn came, it might have made him wonder, if he had had leisure to
consider himself, to find how his spirits rose, and his heart grew
light, exactly when dismay and dread began to overcloud every face about
him, but when he saw that suspense and struggle were coming to an end.
He perceived perplexity in the countenance of his friend Pascal, even in
the presence of his bride. He met sorrow in the mild eyes of Henri; he
heard that exultation in the voice of Jacques which always struck like
discord upon his ear. He observed that in the bearing of Madame
Dessalines which carried back his memory ten years into her past
history. He saw Aimee tremble at the approach of any one who might
bring news from France; and he heard Margot weeping at her prayers, as
she implored of Heaven the safe