ISIDORE ROSENTHAL
from him his great, childlike project for the alliance of the races wherein Hayti was to figure as the thin edge of the wedge which should cleave old oppositions; she knew of his determination to place beside him a woman of white and undiluted blood, a woman of position in the great world upon the other side of that thin impalpable barrier which she felt must separate the fair world from those who like herself dwelt in the shadow.
Madam Fouchère waited for the present emotion to pass. She stroked the African vanity with a caressing touch. She was puzzled to find in him such power of restraint; she could not realize the imbibing of principles from his Anglo-Saxon associates, nor did she give its proper value to the simple African honesty transmitted straight from early days, and often to be found in the negro whose influence has been other than Latin.
"But Fouchère is less your friend than I, dear Dessalines; he likes you, it is true, but can you not see that he has his jealousies? He is unwilling to admit of an intelligence equal to his own, which, to tell the truth, is very great; myself, being French as well as Haytian, I am able to recognize native genius where it occurs." She fastened her eyes upon his face. "If you will so far honor me as to accept my offer of friendship, dear friend, you will never have cause to regret it." Again she laid her hand upon his. But Dessalines, like many simple natures, was stubborn.
"Madam honors me more than I deserve," he replied in his deep voice. Madam Fouchère slowly withdrew her hand, while a metallic gleam crept into her half-lidded eyes. Experienced as she was, it was maddening to find herself baffled by this great animal whose
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