not changed since she flung the kitchen
rags in Sister Celeste's face. Her gaiety
and her ill-humour were equally annoying;
her sarcasms were even worse than her
rebuffs: she indulged in them without
respect to persons. The very bishop who
had appointed her was obliged to submit
to her raillery.

One of her usual butts was poor Father
Augustin, the almoner of the convent; a
worthy man some fifty years of age, of
limited intelligence, and with a face as
vulgar as his manners. In consequence of
his love for the table, he had grown as big
and as round as a tub. Madame Ludivine
advised him to apply for a dispensation
from fast days, for the sake of his health.
She pampered his appetite with delicate
dishes, and whatever she knew he liked the
best; and then when he joined the sisterhood,
at "recreation," with a purple face
and snorting like a fatted ox, she burst out
laughing, ran to meet him, inquired how
he did, whether his digestion was good,
entering into childish and almost improper
details. Father Augustin fell in with her
pleasantries, though they might sometimes
prick deeper than the skin; but how was
it possible for him—a mere peasant with a
little of the mud rubbed off—to quarrel with
a Superieure who sat such capital dinners
before him? Madame Ludivine's convent
had a wealthy neighbour, named M. de
Blassac, who was suffering from an
incurable disease, and never went beyond his
garden, where they dragged him about in an
invalid chair. He had formerly been
secretary to an embassy, lived in grand
style, keeping three men-servants besides a
gardener. He was a bachelor, a stranger to
the town, and had no relations. At irregular
intervals he was visited by a young German,
who appeared to be his only acquaintance.
Those who best knew his affairs, said he
was worth a million—absolutely a million
of francs! Madame Ludivine had great
hopes of inheriting this wealth, or at least
getting a handsome legacy. The least he
could do, was to leave the community his
mansion and gardens, abutting on its walls.
It was rumoured that he had promised them
to Madame Ludivine; and she, like the
milkmaid in the story, had already disposed
of them in her own mind; on part, she
would extend the convent buildings; the
other part would sell for a hundred
thousand francs.

During her predecessor's time, there had
been friendly intercourse between the invalid
and the convent. The knowing ones (and
the veil covers as many as any other
headdress does), would have it that he and the
former superioress were old acquaintances
who met here "by accident." She gave
him permission to attend mass at their
chapel, and for that purpose had allowed
him to open a door upon a sort of neutral
ground between the two properties. Madame
Ludivine knew better than to withdraw the
privilege.

An old man reputed so rich, with only
servants about him, was necessarily run
after by legacy hunters. If, on one side,
his garden was contiguous to the convent,
on the other it joined a "Seminary" for
candidates for the priesthood. A third
competitor, the founder of a new religious
corporation, patronised by Mademoiselle
Jeannette, Monsieur's housekeeper, made
his way without fuss, and received for his
share, in presents of money, more than the
two rival houses put together.  Probably,
the old diplomatist was amused by the
jealousies, which broke the monotony of his
retirement. While he did not discourage
the agents of the Seminary, he liberally and
secretly assisted the other, whom, with a
smile, he called, "that poor devil of an
Abbé;" at the same time he courteously
accepted the attentions of "those worthy
sisters," repaying them with promises and
the produce of his garden which he did not
want himself.

Madame Ludivine paid him frequent
visits. He appeared enchanted with her
company. He praised her intelligence and
the zeal she displayed in the interests of
her house. After their customary game at
chess, he made her show him her architect's
plans. He examined them carefully,
approved or found fault, suggested improvements;
and when she observed, with a
heavy sigh, "All this will cost a deal of
money!" he would reply, "Allons! allons!
ma bonne mère. Have you no faith in
Providence? Hope for the best. Your
work is a holy one."

At last Madame Ludivine's visits were
so frequent and long that she thought fit to
justify them to the chapter. She explained
that she expected him to be a benefactor to
the house, but that her chief anxiety was to
procure him the happiness of a holy death.
Shortly afterwards, in her presence,  M. de
Blassac formally handed a sealed paper to
his notary, saying at the same time, "This
is what I intend for those saintly women."
As the notary had received nothing of the
kind for anybody else, Madame Ludivine
believed herself the sole legatee.

In spite of her demonstrations of
affection, in spite of her cajolery and fond