CHAPTER XIV
ISIDORE ROSENTHAL
BUT do not delay in New York, Dessalines," pleaded Madam Fouchère, "continue with us to Port au Prince. New York is abominable unless one is bleached white like myself."
They were sitting together in one of the alcoves of the main salon; it was late in the afternoon; Fouchère was playing cards with some Parisians and Dessalines had asked Madam Fouchère to have champagne and fruit.
"It is imperative, my friend," answered Dessalines. "There are affairs which it is impossible to neglect."
"There is nothing else?" she asked, watching him narrowly, as she toyed with the stem of the glass.
"Hélas!" said Dessalines reproachfully, " you will not believe me when I tell you that I have no mind for gayety. Our country is in a grave crisis, my friend, and it is necessary to be patriotic."
"Or to have ambitions," she answered swiftly. She raised her glass and regarded him mockingly. "Santé, Dessalines, second emperor of Hayti!" From the shadowy corner where she sat her pale face gleamed against the rich upholstery and her eyes, dark, lurid, mocked him challengingly.
Dessalines glanced quickly about and then unconsciously his massive head was raised, the deep chest ex-
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