And Euphrosyne crossed herself.
“It is hard,” sighed Madame L’Ouverture; “it is hard to do all one ought, even in the serious hours of one’s prayers. I do try, with my husband’s help, when he is here, and from the thought of him when he is absent, to pray, as he desires, for our enemies. But it generally ends (God forgive me!) in my praying that Bonaparte may be held back from the work of estranging our children from us.”
“It can only be for a time,” said Afra, again. She could think of no other consolation.
“Those who know best say that everything is for good,” continued Margot. “If so, I wonder whether anyone can foretell what can be the good of a stranger, a man that we have never seen, and who has everything about him to make him great, thrusting himself between us and our children, to take their hearts from us. I asked L’Ouverture to foretell to me how this would be explained; and he put his hand upon my month, and asked me to kneel down, and pray with him that we might have patience to wait God’s own time.”
“And could you do so?” asked Euphrosyne, with brimming eyes.
“I did: but I added a prayer that Bonaparte might be moved to leave us the glory and dominion which we value—the duty and the hearts of our children—and that he might be contented with gaining the homage of the French nation, and grasping the kingdoms of Europe.”
“I think God will hear that prayer,” said Afra, cheerfully.
“And I am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it,” said Euphrosyne, “in that day when hearts will be known, and things seen as they are.”
“One might expect,” sighed Madame L’Ouverture, “as one’s children grow up, that they should go mad for love; but I never thought of such a thing as their going mad for loyalty.”
“Do you think it is for loyalty?” asked Euphrosyne. “I should call Placide the most loyal of your children; and, next to him, Denis.”