[8] It is pretty generally known—even to those to whom it has not been granted to stand in the imposing presence of our fast friend and ancient ally, Monsieur Alexandre Dumas—that there is a slight tinge of black in the blood of that greatest of French romanciers, past, present, or to come. In connexion with the fact, we will cite an anecdote:—
A person more remarkable for inquisitiveness than for correct breeding—one of those who, devoid of delicacy and reckless of rebuffs, pry into every thing—took the liberty to question M. Dumas rather closely concerning his genealogical tree.
"You are a quadroon, M. Dumas?" he began.
"I am, sir," quietly replied Dumas, who has sense enough not to be ashamed of a descent he cannot conceal.
"And your father?"
"Was a mulatto."
"And your grandfather?"
"A negro," hastily answered the dramatist, whose patience was waning fast.
"And may I inquire what your great-grandfather was?"
"An ape, sir," thundered Dumas, with a fierceness that made his impertinent interrogator shrink into the smallest possible compass. "An ape, sir—my pedigree commences where yours terminates."