No one might break that silence, except in
case of absolute necessity. As soon as
mass was over, the nuns crowded round
the new comer, overwhelming her with
caresses and exaggerated praise. She
recognised the nuns who had been particularly
attentive to her last year. A handsome
Arlesienne, styled in religion Madame
Claudia*—completely took her under her
charge. She had received the order to
show the boarding-school, the embroidering-
room, the gardens, and the school for
poor children, all of which were comprised
in the establishment.
* In many congregations it is usual to call both the
nuns of the choir and the lay sisters "madame."
Religious women, of whatever class, still address each
other as "sister;" but a lay sister, addressing a nun
of the choir, or speaking of her, ought to say "madame."
The object seems to be to convey the idea that a nun
and an old maid are very different beings.

Madame Claudia was a charming creature,
scarcely twenty years of age, but
whose profession already dated several
years back. Her sweetly serene countenance
was somewhat sad. It was easy to
see she was fulfilling a duty imposed upon
her, although she performed it with perfect
grace. No commonplace phrase about the
world and its dangers, about the happiness
of breaking with its temptations, escaped
from her pallid lips. She showed everything
calmly and coldly, without comment or
observation. She had none of that verbose
and theatrical enthusiasm which is only
too common under a religious dress. Her
large black eyes seemed moist and their
eyelids red, either from fatigue or
frequent tears. Every movement appeared
to betray either suffering or some secret
grief.

After dinner came recreation, which was
animated and even noisy. The nuns amused
themselves like schoolgirls. The more
severe the order was in its private discipline,
the more liberty it indulged in during the
hours of relaxation. A few elderly nuns
basked in the sunshine, sheltered from the
wind, in company with the superior; the
others gambolled and screamed without
restraint.

Recreation over, silence recommenced,
and the would-be nun was handed over
from Madame Claudia to the superior and
the director, Father Gabriel, who questioned
her at great length. She told them, in
her own way, the story of her projected
marriage with a young man loose in his
morals and a Protestant into the bargain.
She related the persecutions she
imagined she had endured, the miraculous
way in which God had enlightened her,
and the ardent desire with which He had
inspired her to devote herself entirely to
His service.

The director only, an elderly and very
serious man, made some objections, which
seemed greatly to annoy the superior.
Although Madame Blandine kept silence while
he spoke, her countenance manifested her
displeasure. In a harsh and angry voice she
asked him whether, in consequence of the
opinion he had just expressed, she ought to
send Mademoiselle Soubeyran home, or keep
her.

"Keep her, if you must," he replied,
shrugging his shoulders, after a pause:
"but I am far from being so sure as you
are about the soundness of this vocation.
We shall see; time will show which of us
has formed the correcter judgment. I
should send her back to her parents; but
you have got your postulant, and may do
what you like with her. For my part, I
wash my hands of the matter."

As soon as Father Gabriel was gone,
Madame Blandine gave her version of what
had happened. The good father was a
pious and worthy man, only his mind was
a little weakened by age and austerities.
She had sent a request to Paris for a
younger and more capable director, but
had been refused. They dared not supersede
this one. He possessed very considerable
property; it was he who had built the
new church and more than half the
convent. By displeasing him, they feared
they might induce him to leave his fortune
to certain nephews, and so frustrate the
House's expectations. It was therefore
necessary to put up with the old man's
whims, &c. &c.

When this explanation was over,
Madame Blandine embraced the girl again,
urging her to pray, to humble herself before
God, to scrupulously fulfil every act of a
religious life. She then took from her
bureau the rough copy of a letter, a sort of
circular, which probably served for every
postulant to send to her family, and which
was a model of conventional coldness.
"Unfeeling as I was," Sister X. observes,
"it shocked me; I therefore availed myself
of the permission to modify certain
expressions it contained."

Whether this letter was sent, or whether
it was kept by the superior, Sister X. was
never able to ascertain. A week, a fortnight,
three weeks, a month elapsed, and no reply.
She became anxious, feeling a vague
presentiment that regrets and sorrows might