“No other,” said Toussaint. “This is the fit punishment—mean as your design—ridiculous as your attempt. Are the French Commissaries in waiting, Laroche? Let them be announced.”
The prisoners were removed by one door, while the imposing party from France entered by the other.
Commissary Hédouville, who had been for some time resident at Cap Français, entered, followed by a party of his countrymen, just arrived from Paris. There was among them one, at sight of whom Toussaint’s countenance changed, while an exclamation was heard from the piazza, which showed that his family were moved like himself. The person who excited this emotion was a young black officer, who entered smiling, and as if scarcely able to keep his place behind the Commissary, and General Michel, the head of the new deputation.
The Commander-in-chief quitted his station, and advanced some steps, seizing the officer’s hand, and asking eagerly—
“Vincent! Why here? My boys—how, where are they?”
“They are well: both well and happy in our beloved Paris. I am here with General Michel; sent by the government, with gifts and compliments, which—”
“Which we will speak of when I have offered my welcome to these representatives of the government we all obey,” said Toussaint, turning to the Commissary and the General, and remembering that his emotions as a father had caused him, for the moment, to lose sight of the business of the hour. He made himself the usher of the French Commissaries to the sofa, in front of which he had himself been standing. There he would have seated Hédouville and General Michel. Hédouville threw himself down willingly enough; but the newly arrived messenger chose to stand.
“I come,” said he, “the bearer to you of honours from the Republic, which I delight to present as the humblest of your servants.—Not a word of apology for your graceful action of welcome to Brigadier-General Vincent! What so graceful as the emotions of a parent’s heart? I understand—I am aware—he went out as the guardian of your sons; and your first welcome was, therefore, due to him. The office of guardian of your sons is, ought to be, in your eyes, more important, more sacred, than that of Commissary, or any other. If our national Deliverer—if the conqueror of Italy—if our First Consul himself were here, he ought to step back while you embrace the guardian of your sons.”
The party in the piazza saw and heard all.
“If,” said Madame, in a whisper to Génifrède, “if these honours that they speak of come from Bonaparte—if he has answered your father’s letter, your father will think his happiness complete—now we know that the boys are well.”