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 "What do you call yourself?" he asked.

"Jules, monsieur. By many I am called 'le corbeau.’" Dessalines laughed explosively; the nickname stirred his broad negro humor.

"Mon Dieu, but they name you well!" He chuckled, giggled, bit his fingers, in his mirth. "Would you like to travel, Jules?"

"To the ends of the earth in the service of monsieur."

"Can you shave?" asked Dessalines, laughing again.

"I can do all that is required of a valet, monsieur."

"Very well; you may enter my service. I will give you your clothes and ninety francs the month."

"Monsieur is munificent!" squawked Jules; and thus he entered the service of the Haytian.

Dessalines soon discovered that the man had told him the truth. Apparently there was nothing in which Jules took the same satisfaction as in the society of his master. His constant exclamations of awe and admiration at the herculean proportions of Dessalines were a huge source of gratification to the latter, a massage to the vanity. He grew much attached to Jules; being of a generous nature, he gave him handsome presents for which the little Frenchman was grateful, but which he never seemed to solicit. He was, in fact, profusely attached to his master; they were complementary parts.

The characteristics of Dessalines which Jules strongly disapproved were his religion and his morality; he could not understand how a creature of the super-abundant vitality of his master could fear either God or 148