“Close the tent,” said Papalier, in the same tone in which he had been wont to order his plate to be changed at home. “And now, give me some water to wash off this horrid daubing. Some water—quick! Pah! I have felt as if I were really a negro all this day.”
Toussaint said nothing; nor did he summon any one. He saw it was a case of danger, led the way into the inner part of the tent, poured out water, pointed to it, and returned to the table, where he sat down, to await further explanation.
Papalier at length re-appeared, looking like himself, even as to his clothes, which Thérèse must have brought in the bundle which she carried. She now stood leaning against one of the tent-poles, looking grievously altered—worn and wearied.
“Will you not sit down, Thérèse?” said Toussaint, pointing to a chair near his own, Papalier having seated himself on the other side of the table.
Thérèse threw herself on a couch at some distance, and hid her face.
“I must owe my safety to you again, Toussaint,” said Papalier. “I understand General Hermona is here at present.”
“He is.”
“You have influence with him, and you must use it for me.”
“I am sorry you need it. I hoped you would have taken advantage of the reception he gave you to learn the best time and manner of going to Europe. I hoped you had been at Paris long ago.”
“I ought to have been there. If I had properly valued my life, I should have been there. But it seemed so inconceivable that things should have reached a worse pass than when I crossed the frontier! It seemed so incredible that I should not be able to preserve any wreck of my property for my children, that I have lingered on, staying month after month, till now I cannot get away. I have had a dreadful life of it. I had better have been anywhere else. Why, even Thérèse,” he continued, pointing over his shoulder towards the couch, “Thérèse, who would not be left behind at Fort Égalité, the night we came from Breda—even Thérèse has not been using me as she should do. I believe she hates me.”