The Marquise laughed. “Confess, monsieur,” said she, “that I have a steady hand on the pistol. Do you know, I never shot at anything but a playing-card till to-night. It is horrible to kill a man, too. It makes me shudder when I think of it. And yet, at the moment, I had no pity, no scruples—I can even imagine that I experienced something of the wild excitement which makes a soldier’s trade so fascinating. I hope it is not so; I trust I may not be so cruel—so unwomanly. But you talk of slaves. Are we not yours? Yours by every right of conquest; to serve and tend you, and follow you all over the world. Ah! it would be a happy lot for her who knew its value!” The last sentence she spoke in a low whisper and an altered tone, as if to herself. It either escaped him or he affected not to hear. By this time they were out of the house, and standing on the lawn to windward of the flames, which leaped and flickered from every quarter of the building; nor, in escaping from the conflagration, had they by any means yet placed themselves in safety. Captain George and the three trusty Jacks, with half-a-dozen more stout seamen, constituting a boat’s crew, had indeed rescued the ladies, for the moment, from a hideous alternative; but it was more than doubtful, if even protected by so brave an escort, they could reach the shore unmolested. Bands of negroes, ready to commit every enormity, were ere now patrolling all parts of the island. It was too probable that the few white inhabitants had been already massacred, or, if still alive, would have enough to do to make terms for themselves with the infuriated slaves. A slender garrison occupied a solitary fort on the other side of the mountains, but so small a force might easily be overmastered, and even if they had started on the march it was impossible they could arrive for several hours in the vicinity of Port Welcome. By that time the town might well be burned to the ground, and George, who was accustomed to reason with rapidity on the chances and combinations of warfare, thought it by no means unlikely that the ruddy glare, fleeting and wavering on the night-sky over the blazing roof of Montmirail West, might be accepted as a signal for immediate action by the whole of the insurgents. Hippolyte had laid his plans with considerable forethought, the result, perhaps, of many a crafty war-path—many a savage foray in his own wild home. He had so disposed the negroes under his immediate orders, that Madame de Montmirail’s house was completely surrounded in every direction by which escape seemed possible. The different egresses leading to the huts, the mills, the cane-pieces, were all occupied, and a strong force was posted on the high road to Port Welcome, chiefly with a view to prevent the arrival of assistance from that quarter. One only path was left unguarded; it was narrow, tangled, difficult to find, and wound up through the jungle, across the wildest part of the mountain.