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 beat with a wild excitement. She realized with a throb of awe that Leyden had been quietly demonstrating his theory in the illustration of which he was making use of this appalling individual, as a painting master might twist the limbs of a lay figure.

"I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Comte Dessalines," said Leyden, more kindly, and this very kindness was the effervescence of his first brusquerie, "but I will take no chances. Now wheel that brute to one side, if you please. There, do you see, he is going bad already." For the plumy tail had begun to switch, the nostrils to evert, and the little ears were laid flat to the high crest. One saw that the beast was about to strike, in fact would have struck, but at that instant Leyden emitted a peculiar growling sound at which the horse sprang back and stood quivering.

Dessalines began to stammer, to apologize, to half heartedly attempt to assert himself, saying nothing which was consistent; the man was a medley of disjointed phrases. Suddenly Leyden threw back his head.

"Holà! mon cher Comte," he cried gaily, and burst into a torrent of odd-sounding patois, so swift and voluble and dialectic that Virginia, to whom the French was like a mother tongue, was unable to follow it.

Dessalines stared. Dessalines began to grin. Leyden threw out both hands, shrugged, pattered, jabbered. Dessalines began to laugh with a great expanse of white teeth. Leyden laughed, Leyden mimicked, Leyden made a grimace. Dessalines laughed heartily, roared, became convulsed, rocked back and forth in the saddle, almost fell, in fact one could see that he longed to jump down and roll upon the ground, and at this perihelion of his 95