"Meantime the trembling family addressed their prayers to God in the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which cracked horribly from the struggling winds. So vivid and frequent were the lightnings, that, although the doors and window-shutters were well fastened, every object without was distinctly seen through the jointed beams. Paul, followed by Domingo, went with intrepidity from one cottage to another, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest; here supporting a partition with a buttress, there driving in a stake, and only returning to the family to calm their fears, by the hope that the storm was passing away. Accordingly, in the evening the rains ceased, the trade-winds of the south pursued their ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were thrown towards the north-east, and the setting sun appeared in the horizon.
"Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot called her Repose. Paul approached her with a timid air, and offered her the assistance of his arm, which she accepted, smiling, and they left the cottage together. The air was fresh and clear; white vapours arose from the ridges of the mountains, furrowed here and there by the foam of the torrents, which were now becoming dry. The garden was altogether destroyed by the hollows which the floods had worn, the roots of the fruit trees were for the most part laid bare, and vast heaps of sand covered the chain of meadows, and choked up Virginia's bath. The two cocoa trees, however, were still erect, and still retained their freshness: but they were no longer surrounded by turf, or arbours, or birds, except a few amadavid birds, who, upon the points of the neighbouring rocks, lamented, in plaintive notes, the loss of their young.
"At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed to Paul, 'You brought birds hither, and the hurricane has killed them. You planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. Every thing then upon earth perishes, and it is only heaven that is not subject to change.' 'Why,' answered Paul, 'why cannot I give you something which belongs to heaven? but I am possessed of nothing even upon earth.' Virginia, blushing, resumed, 'You have the picture of Saint Paul.' Scarcely had she pronounced the words, when he flew in search of it to his mother's cottage. This picture was a small miniature, representing Paul the Hermit, and which Margaret, who was very pious, had long worn hung at her neck when she was a girl, and which, since she became a mother, she had placed round the neck of her child. It had even happened, that being while pregnant, abandoned by the whole world, and continually employed in contemplating the image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring had contracted, at least so she fancied, some resemblance to this revered object. She therefore bestowed upon him the name of Paul, giving him for his patron a saint, who had passed his life far from mankind, by whom he had been first deceived, and then forsaken. Virginia, upon receiving this little picture from the hands of Paul, said to him, with emotion, 'My dear brother, I will never part with this while I live; nor will I ever forget that you have given me the only thing which you possess in the world.' At this tone of friendship this unhoped-for return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul attempted to embrace her; but, light as a bird, she fled, and left him astonished, and unable to account for a conduct so extraordinary.
"Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, 'Why do we not unite our children by marriage? They have a tender attachment to each other.' Madame de la Tour replied, 'They are too young, and too poor. What grief would it occasion us to see Virginia bring into the world unfortunate children, whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to rear! Your negro, Domingo, is almost too old to labour; Mary is infirm. As for myself, my dear friend, in the space of fifteen years I find my strength much failed; age advances rapidly in hot climates, and, above all, under the pressure of misfortune. Paul is our only hope: let us wait till his constitution is strengthened, and till he can support us by his labour: at present you well know that we have only sufficient to supply the wants of the day: but were we to send Paul for a short time to the Indies, commerce would furnish him with the means of purchasing a slave; and at his return we will unite him to Virginia: for I am persuaded no one on earth can render her so happy as your son. We will consult our neighbour on this subject.
"They accordingly asked my advice, and I was of their opinion. 'The Indian seas,' I observed to them, are calm, and, in choosing a favourable season, the voyage is seldom longer than six weeks. We will furnish Paul with a little venture in my neighbourhood, where he is much beloved. If we were only to supply him with some raw cotton, of which we make no use, for want of mills to work it, some ebony, which is here so common, that it serves us for firing, and some resin, which is found in our woods: all those articles will sell advantageously in the Indies, though to us they are useless.'
"I engaged to obtain permission from Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage: but I determined previously to mention the affair to Paul; and my surprise was great, when this young man said to me, with a degree of good sense above his age, 'And why do you wish me to leave my family for this precarious pursuit of fortune? Is there any commerce more advantageous than the culture of the ground, which yields sometimes fifty or a hundred fold? If we wish to engage in commerce, we can do so by carrying our superfluities to the town, without my wandering to the Indies. Our mothers tell me, that Domingo is old and feeble; but I am young, and gather strength every day. If any accident should happen during my absence, above all, to Virginia, who already suffers—Oh, no, no!—I cannot resolve to learn them.'
"This answer threw me into great perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the situation of Virginia, and her desire of separating those young people for a few years. These ideas I did not dare to suggest to Paul.
"At this period, a ship, which arrived from France, brought Madame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. Alarmed by the terrors of approaching death, which could alone penetrate a heart so insensible, recovering from a dangerous disorder, which had left her in a state of weakness, rendered incurable by age, she desired that her niece would return to France; or, if her health forbade her to undertake so long a voyage, she conjured her to send Virginia, on whom she would bestow a good education, procure for her a splendid marriage, and leave her the inheritance of her whole fortune. The perusal of this letter spread general consternation through the family. Domingo and Mary began to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, appeared as if his heart was ready to burst with indignation; while Virginia, fixing her eyes upon her mother, had not power to utter a word.
"'And can you now leave us?' cried Margaret to Madame de la Tour. 'No, my dear friend, no, my beloved children,' replied Madame de la Tour; 'I will not leave you. I have lived with you, and with you I will die. I have known no happiness but in your affection. If my health be deranged, my past misfortunes are the cause. My heart, deeply wounded by the cruelty of a relation, and the loss of my husband, has found more consolation and felicity with you beneath these humble huts, than all the wealth of my family could now give me in my own country.'
"At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears of delight. Paul pressed Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaiming, 'Neither will I leave you! I will not go to the Indies. We will all labour for you, my dear mother; and you shall never feel any wants with us.' But of the whole society, the person who displayed the least transport, and who probably felt the most, was Virginia; and, during the remainder of the day, that gentle gaiety which flowed from her heart, and proved that her peace was restored, completed the general satisfaction.