Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [412]
Tocquet laughed out loud at that remark, and several people in the hallway turned to stare at him, though he was unabashed. Toussaint went on in this vein for about five minutes, and Leclerc’s response, though cordial, was a little tight-lipped: “Let us not cling to any memory of the past,” he said; “everything will be repaired; let us rather rejoice, General, in our union.”
He turned then, and beckoned everyone waiting in the hallway to crowd into the cabinet, where he repeated his declaration that all Toussaint’s officers would be maintained in their grades as they were incorporated into the French army, and that the liberty of all citizens of Saint Domingue would be eternal.
As the echo of those fine phrases died, there was a fresh commotion in the corridor, and the doctor turned to see Isabelle and Pauline Leclerc approaching, with Nanon and many of the children of their household. Saint-Jean Louverture broke out of the pack and rushed to throw himself on his father—it was unclear who was lifting whom, since Toussaint was scarcely taller than the boy. Toussaint kissed him and rubbed his head hard, and Saint-Jean swung around to wrap his arms around both his elder brothers at once, while the French generals smiled at his enthusiasm. Leclerc, meanwhile, was urging them all toward the grand salon; the double doors had been opened and the aroma of peppered beef was stronger than before.
As they shuffled in, the doctor recalled the day before the town was burned, when he’d glimpsed Leclerc’s envoy Lebrun dining in solitary splendor here, from an extravagant service of gold plate which must have since been looted, if not melted in the fire. An equally opulent service was laid before them now, just recently cast, so the rumor ran, from coin sent out to pay the troops.
Maillart tested the weight of a fork in his hand, and clicked it rather moodily against his plate, but he said nothing. Tocquet, with a somewhat cursory nod at Pauline Leclerc, bowed over Isabelle’s hand and murmured some compliment, then, raising his eyes to her face, he said, “And my lady wife?”
“She is indisposed.” Isabelle had colored slightly. “Of course she did not expect you or she would certainly have come.”
The doctor turned his face away, but Tocquet said no more on the subject, perhaps distracted by the bowls of beef and rice that were being served, or more likely by some bottles of very presentable red wine. Toussaint, he noticed, took neither wine nor meat nor anything at all but a piece of bread from a whole loaf and a square of cheese carefully dissected from the center of the wheel. He gazed rather gloomily at an equestrian portrait of himself which had been hastily replaced at the far end of the salon once Leclerc got wind of his arrival, and seemed scarcely to attend to the blandishments of Pauline Leclerc, who had been seated to his right.
Placide saw that Daspir had come into the salon and taken a seat with Cyprien and Guizot and Paltre at the lower end of the table, where Christophe was also, with Robillard, but as far from Toussaint as might be. His father studiously avoided looking in that direction. Riau and Guiaou had joined Christophe and the other officers, and seemed to be speaking with Christophe civilly enough, though the group was too distant for Placide to make out what they said. He wondered if what Dessalines had claimed could be true—that Toussaint’s hidden hand had moved Christophe to his surrender—and yet his father’s coldness seemed so genuine. As they entered the salon, Toussaint had even snubbed his brother Paul, for yielding Santo Domingo City to the French without authority—“You ought to have been guided by my example,” Toussaint had said, and turned his back—all this in spite of the tale of the false dispatches which Guiaou had brought.
Pauline Leclerc, feigning to be wounded at Toussaint’s indifference