These words renewed Afra's weeping, in the midst of which Therese hastened away: when the remnant of the anxious family retired to their chambers, not to sleep, but to pray and wait. CHAPTER TWENTY. PERPLEXITY. As it might be supposed, Monsieur Revel and his grandchild had no desire to remain in Government-house a moment longer than was necessary, as Afra was obliged to leave it. Afra's last care, before quitting Cap, was to see that her friends were properly escorted to their home. Euphrosyne was still struggling with the grief of saying farewell to Afra, when she entered the pleasant sitting-room at home; but she smiled through her tears when she saw how cheerful it looked. There was a mild, cool light in the room, proceeding from the reflection of the evening sunshine from the trees of the convent garden. The blinds were open; and the perspective of one of the alleys was seen in the large mirror on the wall--the shrubs noiselessly waving, and the gay flowers nodding, in a sunlight and breeze which were not felt within. Euphrosyne's work lay upon the table; the needle sticking in the very stitch of embroidery at which she had laid it down, when she went to see if her grandfather was awake, on the morning of their alarm. Some loose music had been blown down from the stand upon the floor; and the bouquet of flowers was dead, the water dried up, and the leaves fallen to dust; but when these were removed, there were no further signs of neglect and desertion. "How bright, how natural everything looks!" cried Euphrosyne. "I do love this room. This is the place that we thought was to be sacked and burnt! I won't believe such nonsense another time. I never will be frightened again. Grandpapa, do not you love this room?" "It is a pretty room, my dear; and it looks very bright when you are in it." "Oh, thank you!" she cried, dropping a sportive curtsey. "And now, will you look; at my work--(sit down here)--and tell me--(where are your glasses?)--tell me whether you ever saw a prettier pattern. It is a handkerchief fit for a princess." "It is very prettily worked, my dear. And whom is it for? Some very elegant lady. Is it for the First Consul's lady? They say she is the most elegant lady in the world--though she is a Creole, like you, my darling. Is your pretty handkerchief for her?" "No, grandpapa. I dare say she has all the ladies in France to work for her. I should like, if you have no objection, to send this to Madame L'Ouverture!" "To Madame L'Ouverture. Why? Has not she daughters to work handkerchiefs for her, and plenty of money to buy them? Why should you prick your fingers in her service?" "I should like that L'Ouverture himself should observe, some day, that she has a beautiful handkerchief; and then, if he should ask, he would find out that there is a little Creole girl who is very grateful to him for his generosity to her colour."