dinner is served. But it is not Madame
Anna: she is ill."

"Who is it?"

"A lady you have not yet seen."

"So much the better. I am tired of the
other cunning puss. The devil fly away
with her!"

"Offer your arm to madame," whispered
Henriette.

Sister X. approached; the old woman
laid hold of her. The lay sister preceded
them, opening a pair of folding doors, and
they stepped into a delicious little dining-room,
brilliantly lighted, before a table
handsomely spread. The greyhound frisked
round, barking loudly. Mademoiselle St.
Chéron sunk into an arm-chair, and
motioned Sister X. to take her place at table
opposite to her.

"Well," said St. Chéron, presently,
"you don't serve the soup."

"Excuse me," observed the lay sister,
"but Madame is not accustomed—"

"Hold your tongue, big stupid! she will
get accustomed. It is not so hard to fill a
couple of plates."

Sister X. therefore served the soup, and
waited for her to begin. Mademoiselle
St. Chéron regarded her suspiciously, and
asked, "Why don't you eat? Is this the
day fixed for poisoning me?"

"Begin to eat first," said Henriette, in
an undertone.

"Will you hold your tongue?"
interrupted the other. "You had better be off."
And she prepared to throw a plate at her
head. "No, stop," she continued; "you
will go and make mischief with the
Ludivine. She has forgotten to put this one
up. That's just what I want; I'll put her
up myself."

After dinner the party returned to the
salon, and Mademoiselle St. Chéron,
reinstalled on her sofa, lighted a cigar. She then
questioned Sister X. about her family and
the reasons which had induced her to shut
herself up in a convent. Observing that
her voice trembled, and her eyes were moist,
she said, "Ah! you have some approach
to a heart—the mention of your father and
mother makes you weep. Morbleu, it is
the first time I have seen anything of the
kind, ever since I have been buried in this
old barrack."

She went on in this style at considerable
length, and, as Sister X. neither
interrupted nor contradicted her, she suddenly
took a great liking to her. She related
her abominable adventures in detail, and
ended by complaining that, after being
plundered of her money, she was detained
by the community against her will.

Presently she said, "Listen to me. I
can already read to the bottom of your
heart. You are tired of your life here, and
would be glad to be outside the walls.
Help me; we will escape together. I have
property of which the nuns are not aware.
I have a nephew, a handsome fellow of
thirty; he has already made his way. He
shall marry you. You will give me a
family of darling children; for, ma foi, you
are still good-looking and young, in spite
of all your sufferings. What say you? Is
it absolutely impossible to get out? You
shall no longer live on cabbages boiled with
bran—"

A knock at the door interrupted her
pleadings. It was Henriette, announcing
that the mother superior desired to see
Sister X., who therefore took her leave of
Mademoiselle St. Chéron. Let Sister X.
herself describe the closing scene:

"Madame Ludivine received me
graciously. She did not deny her regret that
an accidental misunderstanding had
assigned me a task which required great
self-devotion, but she hoped that I would
profit by the occasion to raise myself in the
opinion of the sisters, who had been
scandalised by my carelessness respecting the
interests of the house. She begged and,
if needful, commanded me not to destroy
certain illusions that it was indispensable
to maintain in Mademoiselle St. Chéron's
mind; to keep her in ignorance of the
actual state of things; to contradict her in
nothing; to talk much of the straits in which
we found ourselves when she arrived; to
flatter her vanity by telling her that she
was our support, our patroness, our
providence. She also instructed me to bring
up religious subjects occasionally, and to
frighten her about her latter end. Finally,
she dispensed me from all discipline and
obedience during my attendance on our
eccentric boarder; adding that she believed
I had sufficient good sense and true devotion
not to be frightened by the oaths and
coarse language of a poor old woman who
did not know what she was talking about.

"As I made no reply, Madame Ludivine,
who could not conceal her vexation, in
spite of her efforts to be amiable, asked, 'Ma
sœur, am I to take your silence for acquiescence
in my views, or as a determination to
disobey my orders?'

"'Ma mère, I should be thankful if God
had spared me the grief and the shame to
which a mere accident has exposed me.