burst into cheerful ringing laughter. The young man helped Zizi to collect fragments of this ill-fated plate, and then sat in the kitchen for a long time and listened to the slave’s stories about the distant country where she was born, how the robbers stole it, along with other girls, about how it was dying from starvation, father bought and brought into this house.

Chris listened to the little mulatto and wondered how nice and cute a simple slave could be. Maybe it was then that he decided, when he was older, to fight slavery. After all, someone must start this fight! So let this man be Christopher North.

***

It was an early evening when the "Juno" entered the small bay and stood at the wooden pier. Captain Bross, as soon as they passed the gangway, accompanied by the boatswain, went to the commandant of the port. Helene, dressed not without the help of her new slaves in a strict female dress, went down to the pier, paved with cobblestones, and sat in a simple carriage that was already waiting for her nearby. With her she took only Dana, and ordered two other maidservants to wait for the captain.

The crew, harnessed by four frisky horses, drove through the narrow dark streets, on both sides built up with high stone fences, but soon emerged on the moonlit road and rushed away, taking passengers away from the city.

What kind of port it was, and what city they came to, Dana, of course, did not know, but she understood that the home of Mrs. Helene was far from stone labyrinths. The girl, furtively pushing the curtain aside, looked at the landscapes that were rushing past her.

- Close the! - Mistress easily slapped the slave on the hand with her whip, - There is nothing to stare around.

“Yes, madam,” a girl squeaked, rubbing her hand.

- hungry? - Helene turned to the black woman and stroked her hair, - Are you silent? I didn't hit hard.

“Not much, madam,” Dana agreed, “but a little painful.”

“So how about hunger?” - the woman asked.

“I want to drink a little, Mrs. Helene,” the slave confessed.

The hostess pulled out a clay bottle from the basket of supplies and handed it to the maid. Then she gave her two tin cups.

“And give me a splash,” she asked.

The bottle turned sour wine. Dana already knew what it was. She had drunk him on the ship more than once with the lady. The sailors offered the girl rum, but Helen forbade them to mock the slaves, and once even hit one of the most zealous on the cheek.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dana suddenly noticed how her lady had grown gloomy. Her eyes glittered with tears, and Helene turned to the window. The slave, not understanding the mood of her mistress, thought that something upset her. Carefully touching the woman by the elbow, she approached her ear and whispered:

- Madam, what's the matter with you? If I offended you, then punish me.

“No, no, girl,” Helene said, waking up from a dream, “I just remembered something.”

She gently hugged the slave by the shoulders and kissed her forehead.

After she and Mara and Tina were pulled out of the pirate frigate from the smelly hold, Dana was happy with her position. The girls were washed, healed their wounds, fed them good food. Even dressed in a simple, but also beautiful dress. They did not force to work much, they did not shout and did not beat them. Only once, when Tina, having slipped, broke the porcelain powder box, Mrs. Helen scolded the girl for negligence, but then quickly calmed down, and forced the boatswain to crawl on all fours, wiping the puddle that caused the incident.

Sometimes in calm and clear weather, Helene would take her slaves to breathe in the fresh sea air. They sat down on the stern superstructure and chatted for a long time. The girls told their new owner how they lived in their native village, how the gangsters came and took them away.

Once during such a story, Tina’s nerves could not stand it, and she burst into tears, remembering again the whole horror of what had happened. Madam motherly hugged the poor thing and, clinging to her chest, stroked her head until the girl calmed down.

Dana suddenly remembered how she caressed her mother, when the girl, frightened by something, burst into tears. Then she lay down next to her daughter and stroked her head too, until she fell asleep.

During one of these walks, Helen asked the girls about their parents. Everything was clear with Tina. Her mother died at the hands of pirates, so the question was meant for the sisters. Mara, thinking a little, straightened her back and proudly told about her father.

- Where is your mother? The woman asked.

“Our mother,” said Dana, “died when I was ten years old.”

- Perished? - asked mistress.

“Our mother was a warrior of the tribe,” the girl explained, “It sounds strange, but that’s what happened.” Mom was very beautiful and strong. She knew how to handle weapons: aptly shot from a bow, metal knives and darts, well fought with swords. Once, a wild tribe that lived in the jungle attacked our village. The men returning from the hunt noticed in time in the near forest many warriors with spears and bows. They raised the alarm, and when the savages attacked us, they met a fitting rebuff. Mom stood at the head of our troops. The battle lasted until the evening, and if it were not for help from the neighboring village, we would all be killed or taken to slavery. Our mother died in this battle.

The girl fell silent and pressed her cheek to her sister. But Mrs. Helene, to her surprise, did not see the tears in the eyes of a little black woman. Dana was sad, but not crybaby, which could not be said about Mara. Older sister burst into tears and asked for permission to go to the cabin. Until the evening she sat, huddled in a corner of a small room, allotted to the girls under the bedroom. But the next morning the slave was the same.

This case and surfaced in the memory of Helen, as they drove to the estate. The woman suddenly remembered how many years ago, when she herself was still a clumsy girl, robbers broke into their house, standing in the suburbs. Old servant Joshua managed to make a fuss, but was killed with a knife in the back by one of the hijackers. Alan jumped out of his bedroom, holding a sword in his hand. A fight ensued. When it was over, Helene, carefully selected from a small pantry, where she had been hiding all this time, saw a terrible picture: on the floor in a pool of blood lay her father with a broken head, and next to him, crouched in an unnatural posture, clutching a musket in his hand, from which she never had time to shoot.

“So, sis,” the girl heard the voice of her brother, “Now we are left completely alone.”

- How old are you? - He calmed down a bit, Helen asked the maid.

“Eighteen, madam,” Dana smiled when she saw that her owner had come to her senses.

- And your sister?

- Recently turned twenty, madam. And Tina - nineteen, - not waiting for the next question, blurted out the slave.

“So you are the youngest?” - the woman smiled tightly.

“Yes, Mrs. Helene,” Dana also made a smile, “But I am strong.” I can do everything myself.

“Yes, yes, myself,” Helen reassured her, “I already understood.”

The carriage entered the courtyard and stopped near a wide marble porch decorated with large vases carved out of stone. While the servant who brought them here was busy with luggage, Helen, accompanied by Dana, entered the house.

The girl stared at the huge hall, lit by a multitude of candles installed in a massive crystal chandelier hanging under the high ceiling. Slave with curiosity considered fancy furniture, arranged throughout the room, unable to understand why it is here in such quantity. And why do we need such large windows, moreover, hung with matter? After all, sunlight can not break through the dense fabric.

Helene, throwing off her raincoat from her shoulders, sat down in a large armchair upholstered in velvet and invited Danya to sit in the next one.

- Conveniently? The woman asked, smiling slyly.

“Soft,” the girl agreed, fearfully sitting on a wide cushion.