“To Cap,” said he, “where Father Laxabon will follow me immediately, with Monsieur Pascal. By them, Aimée, you will send your packet for Isaac. My own horse is waiting.”
“Do not go alone—do not go without good escort,” said Moyse. “I can give you reason.”
“I know your thoughts, Moyse. I go for the very reason that there are, or will be, troubles at Cap.—The French authorities may sometimes decree and do that which we feel to be unwise—unsuitable to the blacks,” he continued, with an emphasis which gave some idea of his having overheard more or less of the late conversation; “but we islanders maybe more ignorant still of the thoughts and ways of their practised race.”
“But you are personally unsafe,” persisted Moyse. “If you knew what is said by the officers of Hédouville’s staff—”
“They say,” proceeded Toussaint, smiling, “that they only want three or four brigands to seize the ape with the Madras head dress; and then all would go well. These gentlemen are mistaken; and I am going to prove this to them. An armed escort proves nothing. I carry something stronger still in my mind and on my tongue. General Vincent, a word with you.”
While he and Vincent spoke apart, Aimée exclaimed, “Oh, Moyse! Go with my father!”
“Do not—Oh, do not!” cried Génifrède. “You will never return!” she muttered to him, in a voice of terror. “Aimée, you would send him away: and my mother—all of us, are far from home. Who knows but that Rigaud—”
“Leave Rigaud to me,” cried Vincent, gaily, as he rejoined the party. “I undertake Rigaud. He shall never alarm you more. Farewell, Mademoiselle Aimée! I am going to the south. Rigaud is recruiting in the name of France; and I know France too well to allow of that. I shall stop his recruiting, and choke his blasphemy with a good French sword. Farewell, till I bring you news at Pongaudin that you may ride along the southern coast as securely as in your own cane-pieces.”
“You are going?” said Aimée.
“This very hour. I south—L’Ouverture north—”