“Only the negroes, madame. Can I be of service to you? If you have any reason to fear that your force—”
“I have no reason to fear anything. I will not detain you. No doubt you are wanted at home, Monsieur Bayou.”
And she re-entered her house, and closed the doors.
“How you have disappointed her!” said Papalier. “She hoped to hear that her race had risen, and were avenging her sons on us. I am thankful to-night,” he continued, after a pause, “that my little girls are at Paris. How glad might that poor woman have been, if her sons had stayed there! Strange enough, Paris is called the very centre of disorder, and yet it seems the only place for our sons and daughters in these days.”
“And strangely enough,” said Bayou, “I am glad that I have neither wife, son, nor daughter. I felt that, even while Odeluc, was holding forth about the age of security which we were now entering upon—I felt at the moment that there must be something wrong; that all could not be right, when a man feels glad that he has only himself to take care of. Our negroes are better off than we, so far. Hey, Toussaint?”
“I think so, sir.”
“How many wives and children have you, Toussaint?” asked Papalier.
“I have five children, sir.”
“And how many wives in your time?”
Toussaint made no answer. Bayou said for him—