The letter filled the family with utter consternation.

“Can you leave us?” Margaret asked, in deep anxiety.

“No,” replied madame, “I will never leave you.  With you I have lived, and with you I mean to die.”

At these words tears of joy bedewed the cheeks of the whole household, and the most joyous of all, although she gave the least testimony to her pleasure, was Virginia.

But next morning they were surprised to receive a visit from the governor.  He, too, had heard from madame’s aunt.  “Surely,” he said, “you cannot without injustice deprive your young and beautiful daughter of so great an inheritance.”  Taking madame aside, he told her that a vessel was on the point of sailing, and that a lady who was related to him would take care of her daughter.  He then placed upon the table a large bag of piastres, which one of his slaves had brought.  “This,” he said, “is what your aunt has sent to make the preparations for the voyage.”

After the governor had left, madame urged her daughter to go.  But wealth had no temptations for Virginia.  She thought only of her family, and of her love for Paul.  “Oh, I shall never have resolution to quit you!” she cried.

But in the evening came her father confessor, sent by the governor.  “My children,” said he as he entered, “there is wealth in store for you now, thanks to Heaven.  You have at length the means of gratifying your benevolent feeling by ministering to the unhappy.  We must obey the will of Providence,” he continued, turning to Virginia.  “It is a sacrifice, I grant, but it is the command of the Almighty.”

Virginia, with downcast eyes and trembling voice, replied, “If it is the command of God that I should go, God’s will be done.”  And burst into tears.

I was with the family at supper that evening.  Little was eaten, and nobody uttered a syllable.

After supper Virginia rose first, and went out.  Paul quickly followed her.  The rest of us went out soon afterwards, and we sat down under the banana-trees.  Paul and Virginia were not far off, and we heard every word they said.

“You are going to leave us,” began Paul, “for the sake of a relation whom you have never seen!”

“Alas!” replied Virginia.  “Had I been allowed to follow my own inclinations, I should have remained here all my days.  But my mother wishes me to go.  My confessor says it is the will of God that I should go.”

“Ah!” said Paul.  “And do you say nothing of the attractions of wealth?  You will soon find another on whom you can bestow the name of brother among your equals—­one who has riches and high birth, which I cannot offer you.  But whither can you go to be more happy than where you are?  Cruel girl!  How will our mothers bear this separation?  What will become of me?  Oh, since a new destiny attracts you, since you seek fortune in far countries, let me at least go with you!  I will follow you as your slave.”