An expression of disappointment, very evident to his watchful wife, passed over the face of Toussaint.
“There is no letter,” she whispered to Génifrède.
“We bring you from the government,” said Michel, “a confirmation of the dignity of Commander-in-chief of this colony, conferred by Commissary Santhonax.”
Toussaint bowed, but smiled not.
“See, he sighs!” said Madame, sighing in echo.
“These are empty words,” said Thérèse. “They give him only what they cannot withhold; and at the very moment they surround him with spies.”
“He says,” replied Madame, “that Hédouville is sent here ‘to restrain his ambition.’ Those were the words spoken of him at Paris, where they will not believe that he has no selfish ambition.”
“They will not believe, because they cannot understand. Their Commander-in-chief has a selfish ambition; and they cannot imagine that ours may be a man of a higher sold. But we cannot help it: they are whites.”
“What a dress—what a beautiful dress!” exclaimed Madame, who almost condescended to stand fairly in the window, to see the presents now displayed before her husband by the commissary’s servants.
“These presents,” pursued General Michel, while Pétion stood aloof, as if he had no concern in the business—“this dress of embroidered velvet, and this set of arms, I am to present to you, in the name of the late Directory of France, in token of their admiration of your services to the colony.”