ensibly wore
away during his residence at Lieu Desire; there he was at least
convinced that a slave might be perfectly happy. It must be acknowledged
that the French have invariably proved the kindest and most considerate
of masters, and the state of bondage is much mitigated in the islands
which appertain to that nation. The reason is obvious: in France, there
is a _bonhommie_, a degree of equality, established between the
different grades of society by universal politeness. A French servant is
familiar with his master at the same time that he is respectful: and the
master, in return, condescends to his inferior without forgetting their
relative positions. This runs through society in general: and as no one
can well be polite without some good-nature (for politeness, frivolous
as it may appear, is a strong check upon those feelings of selfishness
too apt to be indulged in), it leads to a general feeling of good-will
towards others. This has naturally been practised by Frenchmen wherever
they may be; and the consequence is that the slaves are treated with
more consideration, and, in return, have warmer feelings of attachment
towards their owners than are to be found in colonies belonging to other
nations. Newton perceived and acknowledged this, and, comparing the
condition of the people at Lieu Desire with that of most of the
peasantry of Europe, was unwillingly obliged to confess that the former
were in every respect the more fortunate and the more happy of the two.

One morning, soon after Newton had breakfasted with M. de Fontanges, and
had been summoned to the boudoir, a letter was brought in. It was from
the governor to M. de Fontanges, stating that he had heard with great
surprise that M. de Fontanges concealed an English prisoner in his
house, and desiring that he might be immediately sent up to
head-quarters. That there might be no delay or refusal, a corporal,
accompanied by two file of men, brought down the intimation to the
plantation.

Newton was in the very middle of a long story, Madame de Fontanges on
the ottoman, and her attendants collected round her, seated on the
floor--even Cupidon had advanced from his corner to within
half-distance, his mouth and eyes wide open, when M. de Fontanges
entered the boudoir, with anxiety and chagrin expressed in his
countenance.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, mon ami?" said Madame de Fontanges, rising
hastily, and running up to her husband.

M. de Fontanges answered by put