Part 66 (2/2)

”I am here, Agricole,” said the voice of Jean-Baptiste, close beside the bed.

”I told you to let--that negress--”

”Yes, we have let her go. We have let all of them go.”

”All of them,” echoed the dying man, feebly, with wandering eyes.

Suddenly he brightened again and tossed his arms. ”Why, there you were wrong, Jean-Baptiste; the community must be protected.” His voice sank to a murmur. ”He would not take off--'you must remem'--” He was silent.

”You must remem'--those people are--are not--white people.” He ceased a moment. ”Where am I going?” He began evidently to look, or try to look, for some person; but they could not divine his wish until, with piteous feebleness, he called:

”Aurore De Grapion!”

So he had known her all the time.

Honore's mother had dropped on her knees beside the bed, dragging Aurora down with her.

They rose together.

The old man groped distressfully with one hand. She laid her own in it.

”Honore!

”What could he want?” wondered the tearful family. He was feeling about with the other hand.

”Hon'--Honore”--his weak clutch could scarcely close upon his nephew's hand.

”Put them--put--put them--”

What could it mean? The four hands clasped.

”Ah!” said one, with fresh tears, ”he is trying to speak and cannot.”

But he did.

”Aurora De Gra--I pledge'--pledge'--pledged--this union--to your fa'--father--twenty--years--ago.”

The family looked at each other in dejected amazement. They had never known it.

”He is going,” said Agamemnon; and indeed it seemed as though he was gone; but he rallied.

”Agamemnon! Valentine! Honore! patriots! protect the race! Beware of the”--that sentence escaped him. He seemed to fancy himself haranguing a crowd; made another struggle for intelligence, tried once, twice, to speak, and the third time succeeded:

”Louis'--Louisian'--a--for--ever!” and lay still.

They put those two words on his tomb.

CHAPTER LIX

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