“I repent,” cried Moyse, bitterly, “I repent of my deeds of that day. I repent that any white ever owed me gratitude. I thank God, I have shaken them off, like the dust from my feet! Thank God, the whites are all cursing me now!”
“What do you mean? How was it all?” cried Génifrède, fearfully.
“When Hédouville went away, my first desire was to distinguish myself, that I might gain you, as your father promised. This prospect, so near and so bright, dazzled me so that I could not see black faces from white. For the hour, one passion put the other out.”
“And when—how soon did you begin to forget me?” asked Génifrède, sorrowfully.
“I have never forgotten you, love—not for an hour, in the church among the priests—in the square among the soldiers, any more than here as a prisoner. But I thought my point was gained when your father stooped from his horse, as he rode away, and told me there would be joy at home on hearing of my charge. I doubted no more that all was safe. Then I heard of the insufferable insolence of some of the whites out at Limbé—acting as if Hédouville was still here to countenance them. I saw exultation on account of this in all the white faces I met in Cap. The poor old wretch Revel, when my officers and I met his carriage, stared at me through his spectacles, and laughed in my face as if—”
“Was his grandchild with him? She was? Then he was laughing at some of her prattle. Nothing else made him even smile.”
“It looked as if he was ridiculing me and my function. I was growing more angry every hour, when tidings came of the rising out at Limbé. I knew it was forced on by the whites. I knew the mischief was begun by Hédouville, and kept up by his countrymen; and was it to be expected that I should draw the sword for them against our own people? Could I have done so, Génifrède?”
“Would not my father have restored peace without drawing the sword at all?”
“That was what I did. I went out to meet the insurgents; and the moment they saw that the whites were not to have their own way, they returned to quietness, and to their homes. Not another blow was struck.”
“And the murderers—what did you do with them?”