“I am of a free race,” replied Mrs. Weldon, in a firm tone.

“You are a slave, if I wish it.”

“And who would buy a white woman?”

“A man who will pay for her whatever I shall ask him.”

Mrs. Weldon bent her head for a moment, for she knew that anything was possible in that frightful country.

“You have heard?” continued Negoro.

“Who is this man to whom you will pretend to sell me?” replied Mrs. Weldon.

“To sell you or to re-sell you.  At least, I suppose so!” added the Portuguese, sneering.

“The name of this man?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“This man—­he is James W. Weldon, your husband.”

“My husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Weldon, who could not believe what she had just heard.

“Himself, Mrs. Weldon—­your husband, to whom I do not wish simply to restore his wife, his child, and his cousin, but to sell them, and, at a high price.”

Mrs. Weldon asked herself if Negoro was not setting a trap for her.  However, she believed he was speaking seriously.  To a wretch to whom money is everything, it seems that we can trust, when business is in question.  Now, this was business.

“And when do you propose to make this business operation?” returned Mrs. Weldon.

“As soon as possible.”

“Where?”

“Just here.  Certainly James Weldon will not hesitate to come as far as Kazounde for his wife and son.”

“No, he will not hesitate.  But who will tell him?”

“I!  I shall go to San Francisco to find James Weldon.  I have money enough for this voyage.”

“The money stolen from on board the ‘Pilgrim?’”

“Yes, that, and more besides,” replied Negoro, insolently.  “But, if I wish to sell you soon, I also wish to sell you at a high price.  I think that James Weldon will not regard a hundred thousand dollars——­”

“He will not regard them, if he can give them,” replied Mrs. Weldon, coldly.  “Only my husband, to whom you will say, doubtless, that I am held a prisoner at Kazounde, in Central Africa——­”

“Precisely!”

“My husband will not believe you without proofs, and he will not be so imprudent as to come to Kazounde on your word alone.”

“He will come here,” returned Negoro, “if I bring him a letter written by you, which will tell him your situation, which will describe me as a faithful servant, escaped from the hands of these savages.”

“My hand shall never write that letter!” Mrs. Weldon replied, in a still colder manner.

“You refuse?” exclaimed Negoro.

“I refuse!”

The thought of the dangers her husband would pass through in coming as far as Kazounde, the little dependence that could be placed on the Portuguese’s promises, the facility with which the latter could retain James Weldon, after taking the ransom agreed upon, all these reasons taken together made Mrs. Weldon refuse Negoro’s proposition flatly and at once.  Mrs. Weldon spoke, thinking only of herself, forgetting her child for the moment.