woe for himself, he repaired to his chamber of audience; where,
for the rest of the morning, he appeared wholly engrossed by the affairs
of the citizens of Cap. The steadiness of his attention to business was
felt by his still agitated secretary as a rebuke to his own wandering
thoughts.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

PERCH OF THE RAVEN.

Euphrosyne's life in the convent was dull and weary. It would probably
have been so anywhere, for some time after the old man's death: but
elsewhere there would have been more to do and to amuse herself with.
Every one was kind to her--too kind. She had been accustomed to the
voice of chiding during all the years that she had lived with her
grandfather; and she did not mind it. It would now have been something
of a relief, something welcome and familiar, to have been called "child"
and "little fool" at times, instead of being told at every turn that she
was an angel and a love, and finding that she was every one's pet, from
the abbess to old Raphael.

The kindness of the household had begun from the moment the poor girl
appeared, after having been consoled by Father Gabriel, and visited by
Pierre, and the guardian to whose care her grandfather had confided her
person and her property. Pierre had engaged to see her daily till the
furniture should have been sold, and the house shut up, and he himself
about to embark for France, with the savings of his long service. Her
guardian, Monsieur Critois, knew but little of young people, and how to
talk to them. He had assured her that he mourned extremely the loss of
his old acquaintance--the acquaintance of so many years--and so lost.
He declared his desire of discharging his office of guardian so as to
prove himself worthy of the trust, and his hope that he and his ward
should be very good friends. At present, it was his wish that she
should remain where she was; and he asked whether she did not find every
one very kind to her. Euphrosyne could just say, "Yes;" but she was
crying too much to be able to add, that she hoped she should not have to
remain in the convent very long. Monsieur Critois saw that she was
struggling to say something: but, after waiting a minute, he stroked her
hair, promised to come again some day soon, hoped she would cheer up,
had no doubt she would be very happy--and was gone, glad to have done
with sobbing girls for this day.

When the gates had closed upon him, the petting began. The abbess
decreed that