expressions (she often called him her Petit
Papa), she must have thought he was in no
hurry to die. Her proud temper suffered
from the contact with his servants, and the
terms of equality to which she was obliged
to admit them, and she confessed to her
confidants that her mind would not be
completely easy until after the opening of
the will. Every now and then she tried to
extract ready money from him. One day
she even urged upon him the pretended
sale of his mansion in favour of the convent,
in order, she said, to avoid any lawsuit that
might be brought against them. "It is not
a bad idea," he replied, with his habitual
smile; "but what, my dear, would be the
use of it? You know I have no family
belonging to me?" The careless way in
which the words were spoken completely
reassured Madame Ludivine's fears.

He soon declined rapidly; nevertheless
he still attended mass in his wheel-chair,
dressed in a full suit of black, and drawn
by a livery servant. A big diamond
sparkled on his white cravat, and numerous
"decorations" adorned his buttonhole.
His complexion was of the colour
and texture of parchment, his cheeks were
hollow, his iron-grey hair was carefully
arranged and perfumed. A long aquiline
nose made thinner by suffering, pale thin
lips on which a vague smile was stereotyped,
and bright hazel eyes deep-set
beneath shaggy eyebrows, gave to his
countenance a subdued expression of cunning
and mockery. They wheeled him into the
choir, affectionately attended by the sisters;
one handed him a prayer-book, another
supplied him with a charcoal foot-warmer.

At last he died. Father Angustin,
Madame Ludivine, the sisters attached to the
infirmary and the sacristy, never left him.
Scarcely had he closed his eyes before
Madame Ludivine gave herself the airs of
an heiress, acting as if she were the mistress
of the house. The servants, especially
Mademoiselle Jeanette, let her have her
own way, and laughed in their sleeves. The
German stranger (reputed to be M. de
Blassac's natural son), the occasional visitor,
soon arrived. He was armed with a will in
every respect correct, but dated several years
ago. He also considered himself master
there, and his meeting with the religious
lady was curious to behold. He seemed
just a little upset when they informed him
that M. de Blassac had confided a more
recent will to his notary.

The opening of this "will" was a scene
for a dramatist. Madame Ludivine was
present, assisted by the steward and the
legal adviser of the convent. On the packet
was inscribed, "Not to be opened till after
my death." Every neck was outstretched,
every ear attentive. After the first envelope,
they came to a second, and then to a
third. The stranger maintained his
German phlegm, Madame Ludivine strove to
imitate him. Finally, inside several sheets
of paper curiously folded one over the
other, the notary, who gravely performed
the ceremony, found a pen-and-ink drawing,
done on card-paper. It represented a cat
and a rat playing chess together; and beneath
in the diplomatist's well-known
handwriting, was the device:

A Bon Chat, Bon Rat.

Which, interpreted, is "Tit for Tat," or
"The Biter Bit."

All those who had no interest in the
matter gave way to laughter. The German
never moved a muscle, but took up the
drawing and examined it, as if to appreciate
its merits. Madame Ludivine, unable to
control herself, screamed, "Oh, the wretch!"
and fell fainting into the steward's arms.

We give here, by preference, a comic
passage, though there are plenty that border
on tragedy to be found in the Memoirs of
this Religieuse. In vol. xiii. of our late
Series, p. 7, will be found Monastic
Mysteries, from the revelations of Enrichetta
Caracciola, an Italian escaped, and afterwards
married, nun. The Chronique of
Louvain, in Belgium, has recently related
a case of sequestration at a convent near
that town. The victim is a nun belonging
to one of the best families in the neighbourhood,
and whom the lady superior had
placed in a damp, underground cell. She
had been several days in confinement, when,
from the narrow opening by which her
prison received a little light from the garden,
she succeeded in attracting the attention
of a man working there, and who, at
her entreaties, consented to procure for her
writing materials, and to convey a letter to
her brother-in-law. He, on receiving the
communication, proceeded to the convent,
and asked to see his sister-in-law, but was
informed that she was in religious retirement,
and could not be seen. He returned
three hours later, accompanied by a commissary
of police, whom he left outside,
and then repeated his demand. He received
a similar reply; but on his insisting,
the superior at length became embarrassed.
He then opened the door to the police officer,
who compelled the directress to accompany
them to the cellars  underground: where
they found not only the lady in question,