One night the black boy was undressing, and Jack heard him singing to himself in a language that was strange.
“What are you singing, Mâdou?”
“I am not singing, sir; I’m talking negro talk!” and Mâdou confided to his friend his intention of running away from school. He had thought of it for some time, and was only waiting for pleasant weather; and now he meant to go to Dahomey, and find Kérika. If Jack would go with him, they would go to Marseilles on foot, and then go on board some vessel. Nothing could happen to them, for he had his amulet all safe. Jack made many objections. Dahomey had no charms for him. He thought of the copper basin, and the terrible heads, with an emotion of sick horror; and, besides, how could he go so far from his mother?
“Good,” said Mâdou; “you can remain here, and I will go alone.”
“And when?”
“To-morrow,” answered the negro, resolutely closing his eyes as if he knew that he would need all the strength that sleep could give him.
The next morning, when Jack passed through the large recitation-room, he saw Mâdou busily scrubbing the floor, and concluded that he had relinquished his project.
The classes were busy for an hour or two, when Moronval appeared. “Where is Mâdou?” he asked abruptly. “He has gone to market,” answered madame. Jack, however, said to himself that Mâdou would not return.
In a little while Moronval came back and asked the same question. His wife answered, uneasily, that she could not understand the boy’s prolonged absence.
Dinner-time came, but no Mâdou, no vegetables, and no meat.