ray with him that we might have patience to wait
God's own time."

"And could you do so?" asked Euphrosyne, with brimming eyes.

"I did: but I added a prayer that Bonaparte might be moved to leave us
the glory and dominion which we value--the duty and the hearts of our
children--and that he might be contented with gaining the homage of the
French nation, and grasping the kingdoms of Europe."

"I think God will hear that prayer," said Afra, cheerfully.

"And I am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it," said Euphrosyne, "in
that day when hearts will be known, and things seen as they are."

"One might expect," sighed Madame L'Ouverture, "as one's children grow
up, that they should go mad for love; but I never thought of such a
thing as their going mad for loyalty."

"Do you think it is for loyalty?" asked Euphrosyne. "I should call
Placide the most loyal of your children; and, next to him, Denis."

"They think they are loyal and patriotic, my dear. I am sure I hope
they will go on to think so; for it is the best excuse for them."

"I wish I had a magic glass," said Euphrosyne--

"My dear, do not wish any such thing. It is very dangerous and wicked
to have anything to do with that kind of people. I could tell you such
a story of poor Moyse (and of many other unhappy persons, too) as would
show you the mischief of meddling with charms, Euphrosyne."

"Do not be afraid, dear madam. I was not thinking of any witchcraft;
but only wishing your children the bright mirror of a clear and settled
mind. I think such a mirror would show them that what they take for
loyalty and patriotism in their own feelings and conduct, is no more
loyalty and patriotism than the dancing lights in our rice-grounds are
stars."

"What is it, my dear, do you think?"

"I think it is weakness, remaining from their former condition. When
people are reared in humiliation, there will be weakness left behind.
Loyal minds must call Bonaparte's conduct to L'Ouverture vulgar. Those
who admire it, it seems to me, either have been, or are ready to be,
slaves."

"One may pity rather than blame the first," said Afra; "but I do not
pretend to have any patience with the last. I pity our poor faithless
generals here, and dear Aimee, with her mind so perplexed, and her
struggling heart; but I have no toleration for Leclerc and Rochambeau,
and the whole train of Bonaparte's worshippers in France."

"They are not like your husband, indeed, Afra."