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"It is bad news?" asked the man, eyeing Jules over his glass.

"It is terrible!" wailed the quick-witted Frenchman. "Monsieur le Comte will be desolated! His mistress has died in childbed!"

"Oh, oh, that is a pity! Oh, m'cher!" cried the messenger. "But," he added, "there are women aplenty and much alike. One cannot choose the best on a tree of ripe mangoes."

"Nevertheless, Monsieur le Comte must be notified immediately." He eyed the man doubtfully, half minded to send him down into the valley with the note. But no! He, Jules, must find him. Perhaps Monsieur le Comte was not himself—"this devil of a Madam Fouchère," he said to himself, and added, "and this he-devil, Fouchère!"

He turned to the messenger. "Do you know the house of the General Miragoâne?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; a fine man, the brave general. If a few others, I will not mention who, were more like him—" he rattled on after the manner of the garrulous Haytian of the lower class.

"My master is there!"

"Your master! Oh, oh! a leblanc—the servant of"

"Be still!" snarled Jules. "Oui, oui, m'cher!"

"Take this note to the general and ask him to give it to Monsieur le Comte." He duplicated the message, 247