And since she kept weeping, heedless of his words, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, stroking her hand, covering her with kisses, and said that he would speak to her mother the next morning and ask for her hand in marriage. He described for her the small property he possessed on the shore of the Aar River; a house comfortable and big enough to accommodate her and her mother, if the old woman’s age would still allow for the journey; fields, gardens, meadows and vineyards; and a venerable old father who would receive her with gratitude and love, since she had saved his son. And since her never-ending flood of tears drenched the pillow, he took her in his arms and asked her, himself gripped by emotion: “What have I done to hurt you? Can you not find it in your heart to forgive me?” He swore that his love for her would never fade from his heart and that it was only the mad frenzy of emotions, a mingling of desire and the shock of fear she had aroused, that could have induced him to do what he had done. Finally he reminded her that the morning stars sparkled and that if she remained lying in his bed her mother would come and surprise her there; he implored her, for the sake of her health, to get up and rest for a few more hours in her own bed; worried sick by her condition, he asked if perhaps he should pick her up and carry her to her room; but since she made no reply to all his entreaties and lay, quietly sobbing, with her head pressed into her folded arms on the wrinkled pillow, as the light of dawn was already streaming in through both windows, he finally had no choice but, without any further words, to pick her up; he carried her, hanging like a lifeless corpse from his shoulders, up the stairs to her room, and after laying her in her bed and repeating with a thousand endearments all that he had said before, once again calling her his beloved bride, he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead and rushed back to his room.

As soon as daylight had completely swept away the dark, old Babekan made her way up to her daughter’s room, and sitting herself down on the edge of her bed, revealed what she had in mind for the stranger as well as his traveling companions. She said that, since the Negro Congo Hoango would only be back in two days, everything depended on their keeping the stranger in the house for that time, without, however, welcoming his relatives, whose presence, on account of their number, might, in her opinion, jeopardize their plans. To this end, she said, she intended to make out as if she had just learned that General Dessalines was headed this way with his army, and consequently, because the risk was too great, they would have to wait three days, until the general’s army had passed, to safely bring his family into the house as he wished. The travelers would, in the meantime, have to be supplied with provisions so that they stayed put, and also, to lure them into the trap, would have to be kept under the illusion that they would find safe haven in the house. She remarked, furthermore, upon the importance of the matter at hand, since the family’s possessions would probably bring them rich booty; and insisted that her daughter do everything in her power to aid in this endeavor. Propping herself up in bed, her face flushed with the blush of her reluctance, Toni replied: “It’s scandalous and contemptible to abuse the laws of guest friendship with innocent people lured into the house.” She added that a fugitive who sought their protection ought to be doubly safe; and she assured Babekan that if she did not give up the bloody plan she’d just revealed, that she, Toni, would go forthwith to the stranger and reveal to him what a den of cutthroats was this house in which he had thought to find safe refuge. “Toni!” said the mother, putting her hands to her hips and looking into her daughter’s eyes. “I mean it!” the daughter replied. “What ill deed did this young man, not even a Frenchman by birth, but a Swiss, as he said, ever do to us that we should want to fall upon him like thieves, kill him and rob him? Do the accusations made against the planters here also hold true for those on the side of the island he comes from? Does not everything about him rather show that he is the noblest and finest of men, and surely does not share responsibility for the injustices for which the blacks blame his race?” Taking in the strange expression on the girl’s face, the old woman simply remarked with quivering lips: “I can’t believe my ears!” Then she asked: “What guilt did the young Portuguese gentleman bear who was recently clubbed to death in the doorway? What did the two Dutchmen do to deserve to be shot down in the yard by the Negroes three weeks ago? What blame do the three Frenchmen and all the other white-skinned fugitives bear who were mowed down in this house with flintlock, lance and sword, since the outbreak of the uprising?” “By the light of the sun,” said the daughter, leaping up wildly, “you do me wrong to remind me of all these atrocities! The inhumanities you compelled me to take part in have long since disgusted me in my heart of hearts; and to expiate my sins for all that happened in the eyes of God, I swear to you that I would rather die a tenfold death than permit you to harm even a hair on the head of that young man as long as he is in this house.” “Very well,” said the old woman, with a sudden look of compliance, “let the stranger travel in peace. But when Congo Hoango gets back,” she added, getting up to leave the room, “and finds out that a white man spent the night in this house, you can beg him to show you the same mercy that moved you to disobey his express orders.”

Stunned by this outburst, in which, despite a feigned tone of benevolence, the old woman had given vent to her fury, the girl lingered in her room. She was all too familiar with her mother’s hatred of the whites to think that Babekan might let slip such an occasion to satisfy it. The fear that the old woman would presently send word to the neighboring plantations and call upon the Negroes to fall upon the stranger impelled her to throw on her clothes and follow her mother down to the dining room below. And just as her mother returned, distracted, from the pantry, where she appeared to have had some pressing matter to attend to, and sat herself down on a bale of flax, the daughter stood at the door, onto which a mandate had been tacked forbidding all blacks, at the risk of their life, from aiding and abetting the whites; and pretending, as though gripped with terror, to grasp the error of her ways, she suddenly turned to her mother, who, she knew, had been watching from behind, and flung herself at her feet. Clasping her knees, the daughter begged her to forgive the wild words she had spoken in defense of the stranger; she lay the blame on the half-dreaming, half-waking state from which she was suddenly roused by her mother’s plans to trick him; and assured the old woman that she would do everything in her power to deliver him for judgment, which, based on the present law of the land, demanded his execution. Looking the girl squarely in the eyes, the old woman said after a while: “In Heaven’s name, child, your declaration just saved his life for today! Seeing as you’d threatened to take him under your wing, that pot was already spiked with the poison that would at least have delivered him up dead to Congo Hoango, true to his command.” Whereupon she got up, took the pot of milk on the table and dumped it out the window. Gripped with horror, unable to believe her eyes, Toni stared at her mother. Sitting herself down again and turning to the girl, who crouched before her on her knees, Babekan picked her up off the floor and asked: “What in the course of a single night could have so muddled your thoughts? Yesterday, after giving him a footbath, did you stay with him a while longer? Did you speak much with him?” Yet Toni, whose heart heaved in her breast, held her tongue, but for a few meaningless words; her eyes cast to the floor, she stood there holding her head, lost in a dream. “A look at the bosom of my unhappy mother,” she said, bowing and kissing her hand, “reminded me of the inhumanity of the race to which that stranger belongs,” and turning around and pressing her face into her apron, she assured the old woman, “as soon as the Negro Hoango gets back you’ll see what kind of daughter you have.”

Babekan sat lost in thought, wondering what the devil could have stirred such a strange passion in the girl, when the fugitive entered the room with a note he’d written, stuffed in the pocket of his nightgown, inviting his family to spend a few days at the plantation of the Negro Hoango. He extended a cheerful and friendly greeting to mother and daughter, handed the note to the old woman and asked that someone immediately take it to the clearing along with a few provisions for his kinfolk, as he’d been promised. Babekan stood up, and with a worried look, took the note, stuffed it into the cupboard and said: “Sir, we must ask you to immediately return to your bedroom. The highway is teeming with lone Negro troops rushing by, who’ve informed us that General Dessalines and his army are headed this way. In this house, which is open to everyone, you will find no safe haven unless you hide in your room facing the yard and shut tight the door and all the windows.” “What?” said the stunned stranger, “General Dessalines . . . ?” “Don’t ask any questions!” Babekan interrupted, knocking three times with a stick on the wooden floor. “I’ll follow you and explain everything in your room.” Hustled off by the old woman who feigned worried looks, the stranger turned and called out at the dining room door: “But won’t you at least send a messenger to my family waiting for me in the woods, informing them of that . .