now, however; and I do not know what Afra will say."

"You have not told me who the gentleman is, you know; so there is not
much harm done. No, do not tell me, my dear, till Mademoiselle Raymond
desires it."

"Oh, I may as well, now you know so much. I dare say Afra would have no
objection; particularly as you will then understand what I meant about
living somewhere else. When you talked of a fine library," she
continued, laughing, "how could I suppose you were thinking of any in
the colony but Monsieur Pascal's?"

"So he is the gentleman," said the abbess. "How times are changed! A
lady of colour may be Madame Pascal now, without reproach."

"I am glad it is out," said Euphrosyne, gaily. "I can speak now to
somebody about Afra. Oh, madam, you do not know, you cannot imagine,
how they love one another."

"Cannot I?"--and the abbess sighed.

"And I may look forward to living with them. They say I may, madam.
They say I must. And surely my guardian will have no objection. Do you
think he can, madam?"

"Indeed I do not know. I am acquainted with the parties only by
hearsay. Report speaks highly of Monsieur Pascal. Some persons at
Paris, and some formerly in office here, are surprised at his
unqualified adherence to the Ouverture system; but I never heard
anything worse of him than that."

"And that is nothing but good, as any one would say who really knew all
those dear people. L'Ouverture and Monsieur Pascal are almost like
father and son. Afra says--"

"My dear," interposed the abbess, "you wondered how I knew of this
affair. You must allow me to wonder how you have gained all this
intelligence. Mademoiselle Raymond must have crossed her letters with
sympathetic inks, which the warmth of your friendship brought out; for
not a syllable of what you have told me have her letters conveyed to
me."

The abbess did not mean to press for an answer; so indulgent was she
made by the complacency of discovering that her charge was not entangled
in a love affair. While Euphrosyne was blushing, and hunting for a
reply which should be true and yet guarded, she was relieved by the
rapid approach of sister Benoite.

"Something is amiss," said the abbess, assuming the look of calmness
with which she was wont to await bad news. "What has happened to alarm
you, my daughter?"

"There is a message, reverend mother," said the breathless nun, "from
Madame Oge. She invites herself to our evening repast. If y