And he looked at him with eyes of pride.
Placide told how often at Paris he had longed to bask in such a sunshine as this, tempered by the fragrant breezes from the mountain-side. He was transported now to hear the blows of the axe in the woods, and the shock of the falling trunks, as the hewers of the logwood and the mahogany trees were at their hidden work. He was charmed with the songs of the cultivators which rose from the hot plain below, where they were preparing the furrows for the indigo-sowing. He greeted every housewife who, with her children about her, was on her knees by the mountain-stream, washing linen, and splashing her little ones in sport. All these native sights and sounds, so unlike Paris, exhilarated Placide in the highest degree. He was willing to brave either heats or hurricanes on the mountains, for the sake of thus feeling himself once more in his tropical home.
“One would think it a time of peace,” said he, “with the wood-cutters and cultivators all about us. Where will be the first cropping from those indigo-fields? And, if that is saved, where will be the second!”
“Of that last question, ask me again when we are alone,” replied his father. “As for the rest, it is by no will of mine that our people are to be called off from their wood-cutting and their tillage. To the last moment, you see, I encourage the pursuits of peace. But, if you could see closely these men in the forest and the fields, you would find that, as formerly, they have the cutlass at their belt, and the rifle slung across their shoulders. They are my most trusty soldiery.”
“Because they love you best, and owe most to you. What has Vincent discovered below there—far-off? Have you your glass, father?”
“The deputation, perhaps,” said Toussaint.
“Yes: there they are! They have crossed the Trois Rivières, and they are creeping up towards Plaisance. What a mere handful the party looks at this distance! What mere insects to be about to pull the thunder down upon so many heads! What an atom of space they cover! Yet Vincent’s heart is on that little spot, I believe. Is it not so, father?”
“Yes! unless some of it is, as I fear, with the fleet beyond the ridge.”
“He will be missing, some day soon, then.”
“For his own sake and Aimée’s, I trust not. This step of hers has disconcerted me: but no harm can be done by detaining Vincent in honour near me, till the turn of events may decide his inclinations in favour of Aimée’s father, and of his own race. Detained he must be, for the present, in dishonour, if not in honour: for he knows too much of my affairs to be allowed to see Leclerc. If Aimée returns to us, or if we gain a battle, Vincent will be ours without compulsion. Meantime, I keep him always employed beside me.”