he
allies, to serve against their old masters on behalf of the king. "Vive
le Roi, et l'ancien regime!" was the word as each detachment joined--a
word most irritating to Papalier, who thought to himself many times
during this night, that he would have put all to hazard on his own
estate, rather than have undertaken this march, if he had known that he
was to be one of a company of negroes, gathering like the tempest in its
progress, and uttering at every turning, as if in mockery of himself,
"Vive le Roi, et l'ancien regime!" He grew _very_ cross, while quite
sensible of the necessity of appearing in a good mood to every one--
except, indeed, poor Therese.

"We are free--this is freedom!" said Toussaint more than once as he laid
his hand on the bridle of his wife's horse, and seemed incapable, of
uttering any other words. He looked up at the towering trees, as if
measuring with his eye the columnar palms, which appeared to those in
their shade as if crowned with stars. He glanced into the forest with
an eye which, to Margot, appeared as if it could pierce through darkness
itself. He raised his face in the direction of the central
mountain-peaks, round which the white lightning was exploding from
moment to moment; and Margot saw that tears were streaming on his face--
the first tears she had known him shed for years. "We are free--this is
freedom!" he repeated, as he took off his cap; "but, thank God! we have
the king for our master now."

"You will come and see us," said she. "We shall see you sometimes while
you are serving the king."

"Yes." He was called away by another accession of numbers, a party of
four who ran down among them from a mountain path. Toussaint brushed
away his unwonted tears, and went forward, hearing a well-known voice
inquire for Toussaint Breda.

"Here I am, Jacques!" he exclaimed in some surprise, as he addressed
himself to a short, stout-built young negro. "You are the first
townsman among us, Jacques. Where is old Dessalines?"

"Here is my master," said Jacques.

"Not the better for being a master," said the old tiler, who was himself
a negro. "I found myself no safer than Jacques in the town; so I came
away with him, and we have been among the rocks all day, tired enough."

"Have not you a horse for him?" asked Jacques. Toussaint stepped back,
to desire Aimee and Isaac to give up their mule to Dessalines; but
before it was done, Dessalines was mounted on Papalier's horse.