“Indeed I do not know. I am acquainted with the parties only by hearsay. Report speaks highly of Monsieur Pascal. Some persons at Paris, and some formerly in office here, are surprised at his unqualified adherence to the Ouverture system; but I never heard anything worse of him than that.”
“And that is nothing but good, as any one would say who really knew all those dear people. L’Ouverture and Monsieur Pascal are almost like father and son. Afra says—”
“My dear,” interposed the abbess, “you wondered how I knew of this affair. You must allow me to wonder how you have gained all this intelligence. Mademoiselle Raymond must have crossed her letters with sympathetic inks, which the warmth of your friendship brought out; for not a syllable of what you have told me have her letters conveyed to me.”
The abbess did not mean to press for an answer; so indulgent was she made by the complacency of discovering that her charge was not entangled in a love affair. While Euphrosyne was blushing, and hunting for a reply which should be true and yet guarded, she was relieved by the rapid approach of sister Benoite.
“Something is amiss,” said the abbess, assuming the look of calmness with which she was wont to await bad news. “What has happened to alarm you, my daughter?”
“There is a message, reverend mother,” said the breathless nun, “from Madame Ogé. She invites herself to our evening repast. If you cannot receive her to-day, she will come to-morrow.”
“She shall be welcome,” said the abbess; without, however, much of the spirit of welcome in her tone.
“So this is our calamity!” said Euphrosyne, laughing.
“There is calamity at hand, assuredly,” sighed sister Benoite. “Nay, nay, my daughter. This is superstition,” said the abbess.
“Whatever it be, reverend mother, do we not all, does not every one quake when Madame Ogé comes abroad?”