ho is something of the same sort, only superior even to
Henri."

"The fellow looked as if he would have given a great deal more than his
glass of wine to have stayed out of the room," observed Monsieur Leroy.
"He has nothing of the mulatto in him, has he? Pure African, I
suppose."

"Pure African--all safe," replied Bayou. "But observe! the music has
stopped, and we are going on to the business of the day. Silence,
there! Silence, all!"

Everybody said "Silence!" and Dr Proteau rose.

He declared himself to be in a most remarkable situation--one in which
he was sure every Frenchman present would sympathise with him. Here he
stood, chairman of a meeting of the most loyal, the most spirited, the
most patriotic citizens of the empire, chairman of an assemblage of
members of a colonial parliament, and of their guests and friends--here
he stood, in this capacity, and yet he was unable to propose any one of
the loyal toasts by which it had, till now, been customary to sanction
their social festivities. As for the toast, now never more to be heard
from their lips--the health of the king and royal family--the less that
was said about that the better. The times of oppression were passing
away; and he, for one, would not dim the brightness of the present
meeting by recalling from the horizon, where it was just disappearing,
the tempest cloud of tyranny, to overshadow the young sunshine of
freedom. There had been, however, another toast, to which they had been
wont to respond with more enthusiasm than was ever won by despotic
monarchy from its slaves. There had been a toast to which this lofty
roof had rung again, and to hail which every voice had been loud, and
every heart had beat high. Neither could he now propose that toast.
With grief which consumed his soul, he was compelled to bury in
silence--the silence of mortification, the silence of contempt, the
silence of detestation--the name of the National Assembly of France.
His language might appear strong; but it was mild, it was moderate; it
was, he might almost say, cringing, in comparison with what the National
Assembly had deserved. He need not occupy the time of his friends, nor
harrow their feelings, by a narrative of the injuries their colony had
sustained at the hands of the French National Assembly. Those around
him knew too well, that in return for their sympathy in the humbling of
a despot, for their zeal in behalf of the eternal principles of freedom,