ir!" There was no answer.

"He has slept deeply and long, like myself," said he, going, however,
into the darker corner of the cell where Mars Plaisir's bed was laid.
The straw was there, but no one was on it. The stove was warm, but
there was no fire in the fireplace. The small chest allowed for the
prisoners' clothes was gone--everything was gone but the two volumes in
which they had been reading the night before. Toussaint shook these
books, to see if any note had been hidden in them. He explored them at
the window, to discover any word of farewell that might be written on
blank leaf or margin. There was none there; nor any scrap of paper
hidden in the straw, or dropped upon the floor. Mars Plaisir was gone,
and had left no token.

"They drugged me--hence my long sleep," thought Toussaint. "They knew
the poor fellow's weakness, and feared his saying too much, when it came
to parting. I hope they will treat him well, for (thanks to my care for
him!) he never betrayed me to them. I treated him well in taking care
that he should not betray me to them, while they yet so far believed
that he might as to release him. It is all well; and I am alone! It is
almost like being in the free air. I am almost as free as yonder kid on
the rock. My wife! my children! I may name you all now--name you in my
thoughts and in my song. Placide! are you rousing the nations to ask
the tyrant where I am? Henri! have you buried the dead whites yet in
Saint Domingo? and have your rains done weeping the treason of those
dead against freedom? Let it be so, Henri! Your rains have washed out
the blood of this treason; and your dews have brought forth the verdure
of your plains, to cover the graves of the guilty and the fallen. Take
this lesson home, Henri! Forget--not me, for you must remember me in
carrying on my work--but forget how you lost me. Believe that I fell in
the mornes, and that you buried me there; believe this, rather than shed
one drop of blood for me. Learn of God, not of Bonaparte, how to bless
our race. Poison their souls no more with blood. The sword and the
fever have done their work, and tamed your tyrants. As for the rest,
act with God for our people! Give them harvests to their hands; and
open the universe of knowledge before their eyes. Give them rest and
stillness in the summer heats: and shelter them in virtuous and busy
homes from the sheeted rains. It is enough that blood was the price of
fr