“Perhaps Génifrède is the happiest of our children, Margot. She looks anxious to-day; but in a few more days, I hope even her trembling heart will be at rest.”
“It never will,” said. Margot, mournfully. “I think there is some evil influence upon our poor child, to afflict her with perpetual fear. She still fears ghosts, rather than fear nothing. She enjoys nothing, except when Moyse is by her side.”
“Well, Moyse will presently be by her side; and for life.—I was proud of him, Margot, last week, at Cap. I know his military talents, from the day when we used to call the boy General Moyse. I saw by his eye, when I announced him as General Moyse in Cap, that he remembered those old days on the north shore. Oh, yes, I was aware of his talents in that direction, from his boyhood; but I found in him power of another kind. You know what a passionate lover he is.”
“Yes, indeed. Never did I see such a lover!”
“Well, he puts this same power and devotedness into his occupation of the hour, whatever it may be.”
“Do you mean that he forgets Génifrède, when he is away from her?”
“I rather hope that it is the remembrance of her that animates him in his work. I’m sure that it is so; for I said a few words to him about home, which made him very happy. If I were to see him failing, as we once feared he would—if I saw him yielding to his passions—to the prejudices and passions of the negro and the slave, my reproof would be, ‘You forget Génifrède.’ Moyse has yet much to learn—and much to overcome; yet I look upon Génifrède as perhaps the most favoured of our children. It is so great a thing to be so beloved!”
“It is indeed the greatest thing.” Margot stopped, as a turn in the walk brought them in view of the house. The long ranges of verandah stood in the moonlight, checkered with the still shadows of the neighbouring trees. Every window of the large white mansion gave out a stream of yellow light, to contrast with the silvery shining of the moon. “This is very unlike the hut we went to when we were married, Toussaint. Yet I was quite happy and contented. It is indeed the greatest thing to be loved.”
“And have you not that greatest thing here too? Do I not love you, my Margot?”
“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed, we love each other as much as we did then—in that single room, with its earthen floor, and its cribs against the wall, and the iron pot in the fireplace, and the hen pecking before the door. But, Toussaint, look at the difference now! Look at this beautiful house, and all the gardens and cane-pieces—and think of our palace at Port-au-Prince—and think of the girls as they look at church, or in the boat to-day—and how the country is up, rejoicing, wherever you go—and how the Assembly consider you—think of all that has happened since, the wedding-day of ours at Breda! It is so fine—so wonderful, that you shall not frighten me about anything that can happen. I am sure the blessing of God is upon you, my husband; and you shall not make me afraid.”