It was that year of history when the despairing planters saw ruin hovering so close over them that they cried to heaven for succor.

Providence raised up Etienne de Bore.

"And if Etienne is successful," cried the news-bearer, "and gets the juice of the sugar-cane to crystallize, so shall all of us, after him, and shall yet save our lands and homes.

Oh, Senor, it will make you strong again to see these fields all cane and the long rows of negroes and negresses cutting it, while they sing their song of those droll African numerals, counting the canes they cut," and the bearer of good tidings sang them for very joy: [Illustration: music] An-o-que, An-o-bia, Bia-tail-la, Que-re-que, Nal-le-oua, Au-mon-de, Au-tap-o-te, Au-pe-to-te, Au-que-re-que, Bo.
"And Honore Grandissime is going to introduce it on his lands," said Don Jose.
"That is true," said Agricola Fusilier, coming in.

Honore, the indefatigable peacemaker, had brought his uncle and his brother-in-law for the moment not only to speaking, but to friendly, terms.
The senor smiled.
"I have some good tidings, too," he said; "my beloved lady has borne me a son." "Another scion of the house of Grand--I mean Martinez!" exclaimed Agricola.