he is doing," said Toussaint
gloomily. "Monsieur Pascal--"

"Your horses are coming round," said Pascal, "and I shall be there
almost as soon as you."

"Right: and Laxabon. From me, ask the favour of Father Laxabon to
follow without delay. Margot, take care of poor Genifrede. Farewell!"

As he passed through the piazza, to mount his horse, Toussaint saw
Genifrede standing there, like a statue. He embraced her, and found her
cold as marble. He returned to his family for an instant, to beg that
she might not be immediately disturbed. In an hour or two she might be
able to speak to her mother or sister; and she could not now. Once more
he whispered to her that he would send her early news, and was gone.

Again and again Aimee looked timidly forth, to see if she might venture
to approach her sister. Once Madame L'Ouverture went to her, and once
Therese; but she would say nothing but "Leave me!" From her they went
to Afra, who wept incessantly, though she did not reject their
consolations. The night wore on wearily and drearily. When the moon
set, and the damps were felt wherever the air penetrated, Madame
L'Ouverture went once more to Genifrede, determined to take her to her
own chamber, and win her to open her heart. But Genifrede was not
there, nor in her chamber. The mother's terror was great, till a
cultivator came to say that Mademoiselle L'Ouverture had gone a journey,
on horseback, with her brother Denis to take care of her. Denis's bed
was indeed found empty: and two horses were gone from the stables. They
had fled to Moyse, no doubt. The hope was that they might fall in with
Father Laxabon on the road, who would surely bring the poor girl back.
There was another road, however: and by this road Therese declared that
she would follow.

"Yes, yes--go!" exclaimed Madame L'Ouverture. "She will heed you, if
any one. She thinks you understand her. She says--"

"She loves me," said Therese, sighing, "because--I hardly know--but
Heaven forgive me, if it be as she says!"

"She says you hate the whites," declared Aimee. "If it be so, may
indeed Heaven forgive you! Moyse hates the whites: and you see how
wretched we are!"

"Aimee, do not be hard. We are made to love--my heart inclines to all
who are about me:--but if there are some--if one cannot--Oh, Aimee, do
not be hard!"

"It is those who hate who are hard," said Aimee, whose tears fell fast,
in sympathy with Afra's. "Is it not so, Afra?"