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 with what he accepted as fame. Many people called in the course of the forenoon; his reception room was filled with reporters. The proprietor of the hotel put another and larger suite at his disposal.

Dessalines was interviewed, harangued, sketched, photographed, and as the time for his departure approached he contemplated wiring to postpone his engagement. The Haytian was in his element; his deep sonorous voice rolled through the luxurious apartments; his sable face wore a bland expression of deliciously stroked vanity; his views in regard to the United States and its people underwent a change.

Toward noon he wearied of the ovation and leaving Jules to receive and answer questions, had a cab called and drove to the station. There he was recognized and promptly surrounded by a crowd, but a respectful crowd, as Boston crowds are apt to be.

There were several stylish traps at the depot at Manchester, but as he left the car a groom in gray livery stepped up and touched his cap.

"You are for Mrs. Cromwell's, sir?"

"Yes," replied Dessalines, and followed the man to where a pair of handsome horses were harnessed to a station omnibus.

Dessalines was delighted. The ovation of the morning, the respectful interest of his fellow passengers, the demeanor of these white menials, all semiintoxicated him. In his exalted mood his future seemed very fair. He ascribed this reception of himself, in a country known to be hostile to his race, to his own personality; he decided that he was born to sway toward him the minds of men. 185