IN THE SHADOW
tion of any sort never failed to stir the pulses of his valet. Small, meager, ill formed as was Jules, with narrow, sunken chest, and spindling limbs, there was no object under heaven that so moved him as physical redundancy, whether it were in man or woman or beast; he would spend his last cent to witness an athletic contest, preferably, something brutal; and it was on this account that he adored England. The strain and heave of great living bodies excited him; the sight of Dessalines upon his mammoth stallion was in itself a debauch; it was purely artistic, this trait, but then Jules was an artist in more ways than one. Now, as he watched his master, he was strangely moved, for despite his expressionless features Jules was a creature of powerful emotions; he was moved less by his distress than by the heave of the great chest with every indrawn breath, the crushing force with which the black face was buried in the enormous hands, the slack droop to the big shoulders.
"Ah, but that is only the modesty of monsieur!" he answered. "It is also that Monsieur le Comte is somewhat unnerved from too deep study—and the lack of gayety. For several days monsieur has been depressed. I, Jules, have observed it." Dessalines' hands slipped slowly downward; a wrinkle or two smoothed on the broad forehead. Jules continued: "One cannot judge of oneself; who is so able as I to estimate the abilities of Monsieur le Comte? I who see him daily in all of his moods, in all of his occupations!" A ray of light crept into the black face. "And is there anyone, I should like to know, more fitted to rule than Monsieur le Comte? is there any other man possessed of such power of mind and body?" Dessalines' arms fell slowly to his sides
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