ffused amid these barren
rocks abundance, beauty, and simple and unceasing pleasures.

When the weather was fine, the families went on Sundays to mass at the
church of Pamplemousses. When mass was over, they ministered to the sick
or gave comfort to the distressed. From these visits Virginia often
returned with her eyes bathed in tears, but her heart overflowing with
joy, for she had been blessed with an opportunity of doing good.

Paul and Virginia had no clocks nor almanacs nor books of history or
philosophy; the periods of their lives were regulated by those of
nature. They knew the hour of the day by the shadow of the trees; the
seasons by the times when the trees bore flowers or fruits; and years by
the number of the harvests.

"It is dinner-time," Virginia would say to the family; "the shadows of
the banana-trees are at their feet." Or, "Night approaches, for the
tamarinds are closing their leaves."

When asked about her age and that of Paul, "My brother," she would
answer, "is the same age with the great coconut-tree of the fountain,
and I the same age with the small one. The mango-trees have yielded
their fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have opened their
blossoms twenty-four times since I came into the world."

Thus did these two children of nature advance in life; hitherto no care
had wrinkled their foreheads, no intemperance had corrupted their blood,
no unhappy passion had depraved their hearts; love, innocence, piety
were daily unfolding the beauties of their souls in graces ineffable, in
their features, their attitude, and their movements.

Nevertheless, in time Virginia felt herself disturbed by a strange
malady. Serenity no longer sat upon her forehead, nor smiles upon her
lips. She withdrew herself from her innocent amusements, from her sweet
occupations, and from the society of her family.

Sometimes, at the sight of Paul, she ran up to him playfully, when all
of a sudden an unaccountable embarrassment seized her; a lively red
coloured her cheeks, and her eyes no longer dared to fix themselves on
his.

Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, "Why should we not marry
our children? Their passion for each other is extreme, although my son
is not sensible of it."

"Not yet," answered madame; "they are too young, and too poor. But if we
send Paul to India for a short time, commerce will supply him with the
means of buying some slaves. On his return we will marry him to
Virginia, for