“I have seen some of the gentlemen,” said he, “and Monsieur Denis helped me to the rest.”
The laughter went on till Aimée was somewhat nettled. When the paper came back to her, she looked up into the tree under which she sat. The staring monkey was still there. She made a vigorous spring to hand up the caricature, which the creature caught. As it sat demurely on a branch, holding the paper as if reading it, while one of its companions as gravely looked over its shoulder, there was more laughter than ever.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Azua,” said Aimée; “but this is the only worthy fate of a piece of mockery of people wiser than ourselves, and no less kind. The negroes have hitherto been thought, at least, grateful. It seems that this is a mistake. For my part, however, I leave it to the monkeys to ridicule the French.”
Vincent seized her hand, and covered it with kisses. She was abashed, and turned away, when she saw her father behind her, in the shade of the wood. Monsieur Pascal, his secretary, was with him.
“My father!”
“L’Ouverture!” exclaimed one after another of the party; for they all supposed he had been far away. Even Denis at once gave over pelting the monkeys, and left them to their study of the arts in peace.
“Your drawings, my daughters!” said L’Ouverture, with a smile, as if he had been perfectly at leisure. And he examined the Naiad, and then Génifrède’s drawing, with the attention of an artist. Génifrède had made great progress, under the eye of Moyse. Not so Aimée; her pencil had been busy all the while, but there was no Naiad on her page.
“They are for Isaac,” she said, timidly. “Among all the pictures he sees, there are no—”
“No sketches of Denis and his little companions,” said her father; “no cocoa-nut clumps—no broken fountains among the aloes—no groups that will remind him of home. Isaac shall presently have these, Aimée. I am on my way to Cap, and will send them.”
“On your way to Cap!” cried every one—some in a tone of fear.