"I want to know what you think," exclaimed Madame L"Ouverture, as they emerged from a shaded walk upon a gra.s.s plot, on which the light lay, clear and strong--"I want to ask you"--and as she spoke, she looked round to see that no one was at hand--"whether you do not think that General Vincent loves Aimee."
"I think he does. I suspected it before, and to-day I am sure of it."
"And are not you glad?"
"That partly depends on whether Aimee loves him. I doubt whether Vincent, who is usually a confident fellow enough, is so happy about the matter as you are."
"Aimee is not one who will ever show herself too ready--Aimee is very quiet--"
"Well, but, is she ready in her heart? Does she care about Vincent?"
"I do not know that she does quite, yet--though I think she likes him very much, too. But surely she will love him--she must love him--so much as he loves her--and so delightful, so desirable a match as it is, in every way!"
"You think it so."
"Why, do not you? Consider how many years we have known him, and what confidence you had in him when you sent him with our dear boys to Paris!
And now he has done great things in the south. He comes, covered with glory, to ask us for our Aimee. What could be more flattering?"
"It was our child"s future happiness that I was thinking of, when I seemed to doubt. Vincent is full of good qualities; but he is so wholly French that--"
"Not so French as Monsieur Pascal, who was born, brought up, and employed at Paris; and you are pleased that he should marry Afra."
"Vincent is more French than Pascal, though he is a black. He is devoted to Bonaparte--"
"What of that?" said Madame L"Ouverture, after a pause. "He is devoted to you also. And are you not yourself devoted to France and to Bonaparte? Do we not pray together for him every day of our lives?"
"Remember, Margot, to pray for him every day, as long as you live, if I am separated from you by death or otherwise. Pray that such a blessing may rest upon him as that he may be wise to see his duty, and strong to do it. If he injures us, pray that he may be forgiven."
"I will," replied Margot, in a low voice; "but--"
She was lost in considering what this might mean.
"As for Vincent," resumed Toussaint, "my doubt is whether, with his views and tastes, he ought to ally himself with a doomed man."
"Vincent is ambitious, my dear husband; and, even if he did not love our child as he does, he might be anxious to ally himself with one so powerful--so full of honours--with so very great a man as you. I would not speak exactly so if we were not alone: but it is very true, now that the Central a.s.sembly has declared you supreme in the colony. Consider what Vincent must think of that! And he has travelled so much in the island, that he must have seen how you deserve all that is said of you.
He has seen how all the runaways have come down from the mountains, and the pirates in from the reefs and the coves; and how they are all honestly cultivating the fields, and fishing in the bays. He has seen how rich the whole island is growing; and how contented, and industrious, and honest, the people are, in this short time. He has seen that all this is your work: and he may well be ambitious to be your son-in-law."
"Unless he has the foresight to perceive, with all this, that I am a doomed man."
"I thought you said so--I thought I heard that word before," said Margot, in a trembling voice; "but I could not believe it."
Toussaint knew by her tone that some vague idea of evil agency--some almost forgotten superst.i.tion was crossing her imagination: and he hastened to explain.
"Do not imagine," said he, solemnly, "do not for a moment suppose that G.o.d is not on our side--that He will for a moment forsake us. But it is not always His pleasure that His servants should prosper, though their good work prospers in the end. I firmly trust and believe that our Father will not permit us to be made slaves again; but it may be His will that I and others should fall in defending our freedom."
"But the wars are at an end. Your battles are all over, my love."
"How can we be sure of that, when Bonaparte has yet to learn what the a.s.sembly has done? Hedouville is on the way home, eager to report of the blacks, while he is ignorant of their minds, and prejudiced about their conduct. Monsieur Papalier and other planters are at Paris, at the ear of Bonaparte, while his ear is already so quickened by jealousy, that it takes in the lightest whisper against me and my race. How can we say that my battles are over, love, when every new success and honour makes this man, who ought to be my brother, yet more my foe?"
"Oh, write to him! Write to him, and tell him how you would have him be a brother to you!"
"Have I not written twice, and had no reply but neglect? I wrote to him to announce the earliest prospect of entire peace. I wrote again, to explain my intercourse with his agent Roume, and requested his sanction of what I had done. There has been no reply."
"Then write again. Write this very night!"
"I wrote yesterday, to inform him fully concerning the new const.i.tution framed by the a.s.sembly. I told him that it should be put in force provisionally, till the pleasure of his government is made known."
"Oh, then, that must bring an answer."
Toussaint was silent.
"He must send some sort of answer to that," pursued Margot. "What answer do you think it will be?"
"You remember the great eagle that I shot, when we lived under the mountains, Margot? Do you remember how the kids played in the pasture, with the shadow of that huge eagle floating above them?"
Margot, trembling, pressed closer to her husband"s side.
"You saw to-day," he continued, "that troop of gay dolphins, in the smooth sea beyond the island. You saw the shark, with its glaring eyes, opening its monstrous jaws, as it rose near the pretty creatures, and hovered about them."
"But you shot the eagle," cried Margot; "and Denis wounded the shark."
"Heaven only knows how it may end with us," said Toussaint; "but we have the shadow of Bonaparte"s jealousy over us, and danger all about us.
The greater our prosperity, the more certain is it to bring all France down upon us."
"Oh, can Bonaparte be so cruel?"
"I do not blame him for this our danger; and any future woe must all go to the account of our former slavery. We negroes are ignorant, and have been made loose, deceitful, and idle, by slavery. The whites have been made tyrannical and unjust, by being masters. They believe us now ambitious, rebellious, and revengeful, because it would be no wonder if we were so. All this injustice comes of our former slavery. G.o.d forbid that I should be unjust too, and lay the blame where it is not due! For nothing done or feared in Saint Domingo do I blame Bonaparte."
"Then you think--Oh! say you think there is no danger for Placide and Isaac. Bonaparte is so kind to them! Surely Placide and Isaac can be in no danger!"
"There is no fear for their present safety, my love."
Toussaint would not for the world have told of his frequent daily thought and nightly dream, as to what might be the fate of these hostages, deliberately sent to France, and deliberately left there now.
He would not subject himself to entreaties respecting their return which he dared not listen to, now that their recall would most certainly excite suspicions of the fidelity of the blacks. Not to save his children would L"Ouverture do an act to excite or confirm any distrust of his people.
"Bonaparte is kind to them, as you say, Margot. And if Vincent should win our Aimee, that will be another security for the lads; for no one doubts his attachment to France."
"I hope Vincent will win her. But when will you send for the boys?
They have been gone very long. When will you send?"
"As soon as affairs will allow. Do not urge me, Margot. I think of it day and night."
"Then there is some danger. You would not speak so if there were not.
Oh! my husband! marry Vincent to Aimee! You say that will be a security."
"We must not forget Aimee herself, my love. If she should hereafter find her heart torn between her lover and her parents--if the hour should come for every one here to choose between Bonaparte and me, and Vincent should still adore the First of the Whites, what will become of the child of the First of the Blacks? Ought not her parents to have foreseen such a struggle?"
"Alas! what is to become of us all, Toussaint?"