“A saint!” murmured one bystander.
“A hypocrite!” exclaimed a manly voice.
“See how thin he is with fasting!”
“See how pale he is with remorse!”
“He’s the man to drive away devils!”
“Yes, but not till he’s done with them for his own purposes.”
The dialogue was interrupted by the general exclamation, “How beautiful she is!”
The Superior of the Ursulines advanced, followed by all her nuns. Her white veil was raised; in order that the people might see the features of the possessed ones, it had been ordered that it should be thus with her and six of the sisterhood. Her attire had no distinguishing feature, except a large rosary extending from her neck nearly to her feet, from which hung a gold cross; but the dazzling pallor of her face, rendered still more conspicuous by the dark hue of her capuchon, at once fixed the general gaze upon her. Her brilliant, dark eyes, which bore the impress of some deep and burning passion, were crowned with eyebrows so perfectly arched that Nature herself seemed to have taken as much pains to form them as the Circassian women to pencil theirs artistically; but between them a slight fold revealed the powerful agitation within. In her movements, however, and throughout her whole bearing, she affected perfect calm; her steps were slow and measured, and her beautiful hands were crossed on her bosom, as white and motionless as those of the marble statues joined in eternal prayer.
“See, aunt,” ejaculated Martine, “see how Sister Agnes and Sister Claire are weeping, next to the Superior!”
“Ay, niece, they weep because they are the prey of the demon.”