"You know the rest."
The answering smile that he expected, did not come into the negro's face. If possible, it grew still more reserved and earnest.
"There's one good thing, if you'll excuse my mentioning it," pursued Archie, "and that is, the French have no prejudice whatever against color. Indeed, a colored student gets a little better attention in Paris than a white one."
Then the silent lips were unlocked.
"Could a black man—marry—a white woman, of the upper or middle classes?" asked Hannibal, slowly.
"To be sure. There was the elder Dumas, and a dozen others. I tell you there's absolutely no color line there. They judge a man by what he is, not by the accident of race or skin. You'll see such a difference you'll be sorry you didn't go years before."
Hannibal sat as if lost in thought.
"Mr. Fern will miss you, though," continued Archie. "Yes, and the family. You seem almost indispensable."
A suspicious glance was shot at the speaker, but his face bore such an ingenuous look that the suggestion was dismissed. What could he know?
"They will get some one else," said the negro, quietly.