Euphrosyne should have the sole charge of her mocking-bird.
Sister Angelique, who made the prettiest artificial flowers in the
world, invited her to her apartment at all reasonable hours, when she
might have a curiosity to see to learn the process. Sister Celestine
had invented a new kind of comfit which she begged Euphrosyne to try,
leaving a paper of sweetmeats on her table for that purpose. Old
Raphael had gained leave to clear a parterre in the garden which was to
be wholly hers, and where he would rear such flowers as she particularly
admired. Father Gabriel himself, after pointing out to her the
uncertainty of life, the sudden surprises of death, and the care with
which it becomes social beings to discharge their duties to each other,
since they know not how soon they may be parted--the serious Father
Gabriel himself recommended her to amuse herself, and to remember how
her grandfather had liked to see her gay. She had, no doubt, been a
good girl on the whole; and she could not now do better than continue
the conduct which had pleased the departed in the days that were gone.

Petted people generally prove perverse; and so, in the opinion of the
universal household, did Euphrosyne. There could be no doubt of her
love for her grandfather. One need but see the sudden tears that
sprang, twenty times in a day, when any remembrance of him was awakened.
One need but watch her wistful looks cast up towards his balcony,
whenever she was in the garden. Yet, when any one expressed indignation
against his murderers, she was silent, or she ran away, or she protested
against it. Such was the representation which sister Claire made to her
reverend mother, on the first opportunity.

"I was not aware that it was exactly so," replied the abbess. "It
appears to me that she dislikes to hear any parties made answerable for
the murder but those by whose hands it was actually done. She--"

The abbess stopped, and sister Claire started, at the sound of musketry.

"Another shot!" said the abbess. "It is a fearful execution. I should
have been glad to have removed this poor child out of hearing of these
shots; but I had no notice of what was to happen, till the streets were
too full for her to appear in them."

"A piece of L'Ouverture's haste!" said sister Claire.

"A fresh instance, perhaps, of his wise speed," observed the abbess.
"Events seem to show that he understands the conduct of affairs better
than you and I, my d