ated that he had one thing
more to say.

"I am directed, General Toussaint," said he, "in case of your refusal to
join the French forces immediately, to convey your sons back to the
guardianship of the Captain-General Leclerc: and it will be my duty to
set out with them at dawn."

A cry of anguish broke forth from Margot, and Placide was instantly by
her side.

"Fear nothing," said Toussaint to her, in a tone which once more fixed
all eyes upon him. His countenance was no longer unmoved. It was
convulsed, for a moment, with passion. He was calm in his manner,
however, as he turned to Monsieur Coasson, and said, "Sir, my sons are
at home. It rests with myself and with them, what excursions they make
henceforth."

He bowed, and left the room with Monsieur Pascal.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE HOUR OF PROOF.

"So the long-expected letter is come at last," observed Monsieur Pascal,
as the study-door closed upon himself and his friend.

"Read it," said Toussaint, putting the letter into the secretary's hand,
and walking up and down the room, till his friend spoke again.

"We hear," said Monsieur Pascal, "that the First Consul understands men.
He may understand some men--the soldiery of France, perhaps--but of
others he knows no more than if he were not himself a man."

"He no more understands my people than myself. Can it be possible that
he believes that proclamation will be acceptable to them--that mixture
of cajolery and bombast. He has heard that we are ignorant, and he
concludes that we are without understanding. What think you of his
promise of abundance by the hands of Leclerc? As if it were not their
cupidity, excited by our abundance, which has brought these thousands of
soldiers to our shores! They are welcome to it all--to our harvests,
our money, and our merchandise--if they would not touch our freedom."

"Bonaparte has a word to say to that in his letter to you," observed the
secretary. "What can you desire? The freedom of the blacks? You know
that in all the countries we have been in, we have given it to the
people who had it not? What say the Venetians to that? What says the
Pope!"

"Does he suppose us deaf," replied Toussaint, "that we have not heard of
the fate of our race in Guadaloupe, and Martinique, and Cayenne? Does
he suppose us blind, that we do not see the pirates he has commissioned
hovering about the shores of Africa, as the vulture preparing to strike
his prey? Ign