IN THE SHADOW
occupied by a white woman of striking beauty, evidently a Parisienne, if one were to judge by the type, the costume, the chic. Dessalines, under the impression that an error had been made, drew near and bowed politely. As he did so the woman raised her eyes and he caught in their multicolored depths a quick expression as of recognition, of excitement; scarcely a flash, but a sudden deepening of tint, possibly a dilatation of the large pupils.
"Pardon," said Dessalines courteously, "but perhaps madam is not aware that this is the chair of Madam Fouchère." He paused, embarrassed, and stirred at something in the woman's face. As he looked her intense expression was swept magically away, the baffling eyes lost their fierceness, the delicate nostrils resumed their normal caliber, the parted lips rippled into a smile.
"You are a faithful guardian, Comte Dessalines, for of course you can be no one else!"
A quick intelligence shone in Dessalines' wide features.
"And you are Madam Fouchère!" he cried. "Imbecile that I am!"
"But how were you to know?"
"Because the fame of madam's charm has pervaded England as well as France and Hayti."
Again her weirdly tinted eyes grew lurid with the deep lights which caused Dessalines' great heart to strike its walls a mighty blow. He caught his breath and his blue-black eyes devoured the woman in front of him. She was reclining on the deck chair; the steamer rug enveloped her from head to foot, but failed to conceal
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