"Well, did I not promise it to you?"
"That is true, but the white men always promise, and never keep their word."
"You see a proof of the contrary; come, get up, your master has sold you to me, it is true, but I give you your liberty; you have now but one master, God."
The Indian rose, laid his hand on his chest, tottered, his features were contracted, and for a moment he seemed suffering from a violent internal emotion, which in spite of all the power he had over himself, he could not succeed in mastering.
Montbarts, calm and gloomy, examined him attentively, while fixing a scrutinizing glance upon him.
At length the Indian succeeded in speaking, though his voice issued from his throat like a whistle.
"Omopoua was a renowned chief among his people," he said; "a Spaniard had degraded him by making him a slave, through treachery, and selling him like a beast of burden: you restore Omopoua to the rank from which he ought never to have descended. It is well, you lose a bad slave, but gain a devoted friend; were it not for you I should be dead—my life belongs to you."
Montbarts offered the Carib his hand, which he kissed respectfully.
"Do you intend to remain at Saint Kitts, or would you like to return to Haiti?"
"The family of Omopoua," the Indian replied, "and what remains of his people, are wandering about the savannahs of Bohis, but where you go, I will go."