Again and again Aimée looked timidly forth, to see if she might venture to approach her sister. Once Madame L’Ouverture went to her, and once Thérèse; but she would say nothing but “Leave me!” From her they went to Afra, who wept incessantly, though she did not reject their consolations. The night wore on wearily and drearily. When the moon set, and the damps were felt wherever the air penetrated, Madame L’Ouverture went once more to Génifrède, determined to take her to her own chamber, and win her to open her heart. But Génifrède was not there, nor in her chamber. The mother’s terror was great, till a cultivator came to say that Mademoiselle L’Ouverture had gone a journey, on horseback, with her brother Denis to take care of her. Denis’s bed was indeed found empty: and two horses were gone from the stables. They had fled to Moyse, no doubt. The hope was that they might fall in with Father Laxabon on the road, who would surely bring the poor girl back. There was another road, however: and by this road Thérèse declared that she would follow.
“Yes, yes—go!” exclaimed Madame L’Ouverture. “She will heed you, if any one. She thinks you understand her. She says—”
“She loves me,” said Thérèse, sighing, “because—I hardly know—but Heaven forgive me, if it be as she says!”
“She says you hate the whites,” declared Aimée. “If it be so, may indeed Heaven forgive you! Moyse hates the whites: and you see how wretched we are!”
“Aimée, do not be hard. We are made to love—my heart inclines to all who are about me:—but if there are some—if one cannot—Oh, Aimée, do not be hard!”
“It is those who hate who are hard,” said Aimée, whose tears fell fast, in sympathy with Afra’s. “Is it not so, Afra?”
“Well, I will go,” said Thérèse, gently. “One kiss, Aimée, for Génifrède’s sake!”
“For your own,” said Aimée, tenderly embracing her. “Bring back poor Génifrède! Tell her we will devote ourselves to her.”
“Bring back my child,” said Margot. “Be sure you tell her that there may be good news yet. Moyse may have explanations to give;—he may do great things yet.”
These words renewed Afra’s weeping, in the midst of which Thérèse hastened away: when the remnant of the anxious family retired to their chambers, not to sleep, but to pray and wait.