On festivals, she assisted her mother to put all things in order, and to preside at the great banquets given to relatives and friends, who afterward were visited in their turn, and then the slaves carried their masters in hammocks, or else, what was far more acceptable, the young maidens mounted small Spanish horses, full of courage and daring, and whose firm, quick step made a ride to Porto Rico simply a rushing gallop.

Amidst this dreamy, sunny, joyous existence of the young maiden gleamed one day, as a lightning-flash, a prophetic ray of Josephine’s future greatness.

This happened one afternoon as she was walking alone and thoughtful through the plantation.  A group of negresses, in the centre of which was an old and unknown woman, attracted her attention.  Josephine approached.  It was an old negro woman from a neighboring plantation, and she was telling the fortune of the young negro women of M. Tascher de la Pagerie.  No sooner did the old woman cast her eyes on Josephine than she seemed to shrink into one mass, whilst an expression of horror and wonder stole over her face.  She vehemently seized the hand of the young maiden, examined it carefully, and then lifted up her large, astonished eyes with a searching expression to the face of Josephine.

“You must see something very wonderful in my face and in my hand?” inquired Josephine, laughing.

“Yes, something very wonderful,” repeated the negro woman, still intently staring at her.

“Is it a good or a bad fortune which awaits me?”

The old prophetess slowly shook her head.

“Who can tell,” said she, gravely, “what is a good or a bad fortune for human beings?  In your hand I see evil, but in your face happiness—­great, lofty happiness.”

“Well,” cried out Josephine, laughing, “you are cautious, and your oracle is not very clear.”

The old woman lifted up her eyes to heaven with a strange expression.

“I dare not,” said she, “express myself more clearly.”

“Speak on, whatever the result!” exclaimed Josephine, whose curiosity was excited by the very diffidence of the fortune-teller.  “Say what you see in my future life.  I wish it, I order you to do so.”

“Well, if you order it, I must obey,” said she, with solemnity.  “Listen, then.  I read in your countenance that you are called to high destinies.  You will soon be married.  But your marriage will not be a happy one.  You will soon be a young widow, and then—­”

“Well, and then?” asked Josephine, passionately, as the old woman hesitated and remained silent.

“Well, and then you will be Queen of France—­more than a queen!” shouted the prophetess, with a loud voice.  “You will live glorious, brilliant days, but at the last misfortune will come and carry you to your grave in a day of rebellion.”

Afraid of the pictures which her prophetic vision had contemplated in the future, the old hag forced her way through the circle of negro women around, and rushed away through the field as fast as her feet could bear her on.