When Toussaint returned from his visit to Dessalines’ chamber, he found Monsieur Pascal sitting with his face hid in his hands.
“Meditation is good,” said Toussaint, laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Lamentation is unworthy.”
“It is so; and we have much to do,” replied the secretary, rousing himself.
“Fear not,” resumed Toussaint, “but that your bride will bloom in the air of the mountains. We may have to entrench ourselves in the mornes—or, at least, to place there our ladies, and the civil officers of the government; but we ought to thank God for providing those natural homes, so full of health and beauty, for the free in spirit. I have still three brigades, and the great body of the cultivators, in reserve; but we shall all act with stronger hearts if our heart’s treasure is safe in the mornes.”
“Are we to lose Dessalines?” asked Monsieur Pascal.
“I believe not. He is severely wounded, and, at this moment, exasperated. He vows the death of Monsieur Papalier; and I vow his safety while he is my guest.”
“Papalier and Madame Dessalines cannot exist in one house.”
“And therefore must this deputation be dismissed early in the morning, if there were no other reasons. Notice must be carried to them with their coffee, that I am awaiting them with my replies. Those delivered, negotiation is at an end, and we must act. My foes have struck the blow which unties my hands.”
“What has Monsieur Papalier to do with the deputation?”
“Nothing, but that he uses its protection to attempt to resume his estates. They are in commission; and he may have them; though not, as he thinks, with men and women as part of his chattels. No more of him.”