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T was a golden day toward the end of July; Giles had dropped in at Dessalines' cottage while riding, and they were sitting in the pagoda on the edge of the little lake.

"You must have been working very hard, Aristide," said Giles. "We haven't seen a sign of you since the Moultries left. Don't wonder you want to get away … must be a deuced bore plugging along here all by yourself at all this rot!" He glanced at the book which the Haytian had laid down at his approach: "‘Psychologic des Foules'! Jove! pretty solid for a day like this—what?"

"It is intensely interesting, Giles. Leyden recommended it; it is just the sort of stuff I need, as the success of my work will depend a great deal upon my comprehension of the popular mind."

"The pater wishes you to dine with us before you go; he wondered that you hadn't been over, but I told him that you were hard at work. Are you going directly to Hayti?"

"No," replied Dessalines slowly, "I am going first to New York; there are some matters of business to be looked after and," his eyes lighted, "I wish to see the place." 132