She had been placed in a convent school, and although she lived in the midst of riches, she had not the disposal of a single farthing.  She was not allowed to mention her mother’s name, and was bidden to forget the land of savages where she was born; but she would sooner forget herself.

To Paul she sent some flower-seeds in a small purse, on which were embroidered the letters “P” and “V” formed of hair that he knew to be Virginia’s.

But reports were current that gave him great uneasiness.  The people of the vessel that had brought the letter asserted that Virginia was about to be married to a great nobleman; some even declared that the wedding was already over.

But soon afterwards his disquietude ceased at the news that Virginia was about to return.

On the morning of December 24, 1752, Paul saw a signal indicating that a vessel was descried at sea, and he hastened to the city.  A pilot went out to reconnoitre her according to the custom of the port; he came back in the evening with the news that the vessel was the Saint Gerard, and that her captain hoped to bring her to anchor off Port Louis on the following afternoon.  Virginia was on board, and sent by the pilot a letter to her mother which Paul, after kissing it with transport, carried hurriedly to the plantation.

Virginia wrote that her great-aunt had tried to force her into marriage, had disinherited her on her refusal, and had sent her back to the island.  Her only wish now was once more to see and embrace her dear family.

Paul, in his excitement, rushed to tell me the news, although it was late at night.  As we walked together we were overtaken by a breathless negro.

“A vessel from France has just cast anchor under Amber Island,” he said.  “She is firing distress guns, for the sea is very heavy.”

“That will be Virginia’s vessel,” I said.  “Let us go that way to meet her.”

The heat was stifling, and the flashes of lightning that illumined the dense darkness revealed masses of thick clouds lowering over the island.  In the distance we heard the boom of the distress-gun.  We quickened our pace without saying a word, not daring to communicate our anxiety to each other.

When we reached the coast by Amber Island, we found several planters gathered round a fire, discussing whether the vessel could enter the channel in the morning and find safety.

Soon after dawn the governor arrived with a detachment of soldiers, who immediately fired a volley.  Close at hand came the answering boom of the ship’s gun; in the dim light we could see her masts and yards, and hear the voices of the sailors.  She had passed through the channel, and was secure—­save from the hurricane.

But the hurricane came.  Black clouds with copper edging hung in the zenith; seabirds made their way, screaming, to shelter in the island.  Then fearful noises as of torrents were heard from the sea; the mists of the morning were swept away and the storm was upon us.