“The First Consul has written, or will write, no doubt,” said Aimée. “It must be pleasant to him as to my father, to greet a brother in destiny and in glory. Surely General Vincent will come and speak to us; will tell us of my brothers! He looked this way just now.”
“The First Consul will not write,” said Moyse. “He is a white; and therefore, though a brother in destiny and in glory, he will not notice the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo.”
“You are right, Moyse,” said Madame Dessalines. “And it is best so.”
“But that will disappoint my husband very much,” said Madame. “He likes the whites better than you do.”
“He does,” said Thérèse. “But let us listen.”
Hédouville was at the moment exerting himself to introduce his secretary, Monsieur Pascal.
“An honoured name,” observed Toussaint.
“And not only in name, but by blood connected with the great man you refer to,” said Hédouville.
“None are more welcome here,” said Toussaint, “than those who bring with them the honours of piety, of reason, and of science.” And he looked with deep interest upon the countenance of the secretary, which did in truth show signs of that thoughtfulness and sagacity, though not of the morbid suffering, which is associated in all minds with the image of the author of the Provinciales. Monsieur Pascal returned the gaze which was fixed upon him with one in which intense curiosity was mingled with doubt, if not fear. His countenance immediately, however, relaxed into an expression of pleased surprise. During this brief moment, these two men, so unlike—the elderly, toil-worn negro, and the young, studious Frenchman—felt that they were friends.
Monsieur Pascal stepped aside to make way for Monsieur Molière.