corner of the walls, and it was as wet as that which he had burned.

This was too much for poor Mars Plaisir. He looked upon his master, now
spreading his thin hands over the fire, his furrowed face now and then
lighted up by the blaze which sprang fitfully through the smoke--he
thought of the hall of audience at Port-au-Prince, of the gardens at
Pongaudin, of the Place d'Armes at Cap Francais on review-days, of the
military journeys and official fetes of the Commander-in-Chief, and he
looked upon him now. He burst into tears as uncontrollable as his
laughter had been before. Peeling his master's hand upon his shoulder,
he considered it necessary to give a reason for his grief, and sobbed
out--

"They treat your Excellency as if your Excellency were nobody. They
give your Excellency no title. They will not even call you General."

Toussaint laughed at this cause of grief in such a place; but Mars
Plaisir insisted upon it.

"How would they like it themselves? What would the First Consul himself
say if he were a prisoner, and his gaolers refused him his titles?"

"I do not suppose him to be a man of so narrow a heart, and so low a
soul, as that such a trifle could annoy him. Cheer up, if that be all."

Mars Plaisir was far from thinking this all; but his tears and sobs
choked him in the midst of his complaints. Toussaint turned again to
the fire, and presently began to sing one of the most familiar songs of
Saint Domingo. He had not sung a stanza before, as he had anticipated,
his servant joined in, rising from his attitude of despair, and singing
with as much animation as if he had been on the Haut-du-Cap. This was
soon put a stop to by a sentinel, who knocked at the door to command
silence.

"They cannot hear us if we want dry straw," said Mars Plaisir,
passionately: "and yet we cannot raise a note but they must stop us."

"We are caged birds; and you know Denis's canary might sing only when it
pleased his master. Have I not seen even you cover up the cage? But
sing--sing softly, and they may not hear you."

When supper was brought, fresh straw and more firewood were granted. At
his master's bidding, and under the influence of these comforts, Mars
Plaisir composed himself to sleep.

Toussaint sat long beside the fire. He could not have slept. The weeks
that had passed since he left Saint Domingo had not yet reconciled his
ear to the silence of a European night. At sea, the dash of the waves
a