“Stop, stop, child! Why are you in such a hurry? I want to know what is the matter. Such a night as I have had!”
“A bad night, grandpapa? I am sorry.”
“Bad enough! How came my light to go out? And what is all this commotion in the streets?”
Euphrosyne went to the night-lamp, and found that a very large flying beetle had disabled itself by breaking the glass, and putting out the light. There it lay dead—a proof at least that there were no ants in the room.
“Silly thing!” said Euphrosyne. “I do wish these beetles would learn to fly properly. He must have startled you, grandpapa. Did not you think it was a thief, when you were left in the dark?”
“It is very odd that nobody about me can find me a lamp that will serve me. And then, what is all this bustle in the town? Tell me at once what is the matter.”
“I know of nothing the matter. The trompettes have been by this morning; and they say that the Commander-in-chief is here: so there will be nothing the matter. There was some talk last night, Pierre said—some fright about to-day. But L’Ouverture is come; and it will be all right now, you know.”
“You know nothing about it, child—teazing one with your buzzing, worrying humming-birds! Go and get my coffee, and send Pierre to me.”
“The birds will come with me, I dare say, if I go by the balcony. I will take them away.”
“No, no. Don’t lose time with them. Let them be. Go and send Pierre.”