“And shall I safely arrive in France?” asked Josephine.  “Shall I again see my husband?”

“You will see him again,” exclaimed the prophetess, “but hasten to go to him.”

“Is he threatened with any danger?” demanded Josephine.

“Not yet!—­not at once!” said the old negress.  “They now applaud your husband and recognize his services.  But he has powerful enemies, and one day they will threaten his life, and will lead him to the scaffold and murder him!”

Before Josephine left Martinique, a portion of these prophecies of the old negro woman were to be fulfilled.  The wicked and bloodthirsty fiends, of whom she said they were ready with fire and sword to rush upon the colony—­those fiends did light the firebrand and destroy the peace of Martinique.

The resounding cries for freedom uttered in the National Assembly, and which shook the whole continent, had rushed along across the ocean to Martinique.  The storm-wind of the revolution had on its wings borne the wondrous story to Martinique—­the wondrous story of man’s sacred rights, which Lafayette had proclaimed in the National Assembly, the wondrous story that man was born free, that he ought to remain free, that there were to be no more slaves in the land of liberty, in France, and in her colonies.

The storm-wind which brought this great news across the ocean to Martinique scattered it into the negro-cabins, and at first they listened to it with wondrous delight.  Then the delirium of joy came over them; jubilant they broke their chains, and in wild madness anticipated their human rights, their personal freedom.

The revolution, with its terrible consequences of blood and horrors, broke loose in Martinique, and, exulting in freedom, the slaves threw the firebrand on the roof of their former masters, rushed with war’s wild cry into their dwellings, and, in freedom’s name, punished those who so long had punished them in tyranny’s name.

Amid the barbaric shouts of those dark free men, Josephine embarked on board the ship which was to carry her and her little Hortense to France; and the flames which rose from the roofs of the houses as so many way-marks of fire for the new era, were Josephine’s last, sad farewell from the home which she was never to see again. [Footnote:  Le Normand, “Memoires de l’Imperatrice Josephine,” vol. i., p. 147]

CHAPTER X.

The days of the revolution.

Happiness had once more penetrated into the heart of Josephine.  Love again threw her sun-gleams upon her existence, and filled her whole being with animation and joy.  She was once more united to her husband, who, with tears of joy and repentance, had again taken her to his heart.  She was once more with her relatives, who, in the day of distress, had shown her so much love and faithfulness, and finally she had also her son, her own dear Eugene, from whom she had been separated during the sad years of their matrimonial disagreements.