THE BAMBOULA
creet … you forget that your husband is absent!" His voice had the imploring accent of a boy about to be chastised.
She raised her hand. "Listen, mon ami!"
"It is not well to listen," said Dessalines with a shudder.
She turned to him suddenly. "I wish to go down; to witness this thing. I cannot sleep."
"But, madam, it is not a thing for you to see!"
"Nevertheless, I wish to see it. I am going! Must I go alone? We can sit back in the shadows and watch; it is an exciting spectacle; to the peasants it is maddening, infuriating, but to us it will remain a spectacle. Will you accompany me?"
"I cannot permit madam to go alone—but it is a madness. What would your husband say?"
"He would be amused. He often attends; he considers it most diverting, a frolic. Once he permitted me to accompany him."
"But I implore madam"
"Nevertheless I am going down. I will slip on a traveling cloak. Ah, look! Is it not fascinating, mon ami!"
The yellow moon had peered over the shoulder of the mountain and bathed the tentlike mist in a sheen of amber; it hung a golden veil, the apron of the mountain; while up from beneath came the steady beat of the drum.
La Fouchère slipped into her room to reappear in a gray traveling cloak; beneath it peeped her bare ankles and feet encased in slippers of pink brocade. She handed to Dessalines a dressing gown.
"Come," she said impatiently. He followed her
235
