Papalier followed, in discontented silence. In a few moments, Henri again pulled the bridle—a decided check this time—stopping the horse.
“Voices,” he whispered. Bayou could hear none. In a moment, Henri continued.
“It is Toussaint, I thought we should meet him hereabouts.”
The next turn of the path brought them upon Toussaint, who was advancing with the led horse from Breda. Not far behind him was Madame Ogé’s house, the door standing wide, and, seen by the light within, a woman in the doorway. Toussaint pulled up, Henri leaped down, and ran to shake hands with his friend. Papalier took the opportunity to say, in a low voice, to Bayou—
“You must send your fellow there on board ship. You must, there is no doubt of it. The Governor, and all the householders in Cap, are doing so with their cleverest negroes; and if there is a clever one in the colony, it is Toussaint.”
“I shall do no such thing,” said Bayou. “I have trusted Toussaint for these thirty years; and I shall not distrust him now—now when we most need those we can best confide in.”
“That is exactly what Monsieur Clement said of his postillion; and it was his postillion that struck him to the heart. You must send Toussaint on board ship; and I will tell you how—”
Papalier stopped, perceiving that the two negroes were not talking, but had their eyes fixed on him.
“What is that?” said Henri. “Is Toussaint to go on board ship?”
“No, no; nonsense,” said Bayou; “I am not going to send anybody on board ship. All quiet at Breda, I suppose, Toussaint?”