CHAPTER VII.
lighting hastily from the carriage, Clotilde ran up the great flight of steps which led to the door. As she entered, it was closed behind her, but to her surprise, and much to her relief, she found that the janitress was a nun.
"Tell me, good sister, tell me for the love of Heaven, what place is this? Where have these men brought me to?" she exclaimed, trembling with excitement.
Apparently somewhat astonished at the vehemence of the new-comer, the female answered only by making a sign to Clotilde to follow her; she then led the way across the hall to a spacious apartment, and there left her. Clotilde would have repeated her questions, but she was too late, and on trying the door she found it locked.
The fact that the house must in some way be connected with a religious establishment of some kind allayed her fears, however, and she cast an anxious glance around the apartment, which was lighted by a handsome chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Her quick eye soon noticed more than one little accessory, which showed that the room was habitually occupied by a lady, and one moreover with wealth at her command, and apparently of refined taste. Any further speculations, however, were interrupted by the entrance of a personage whose dress and bearing seemed to indicate that she must be the Lady Superior of the place. The poor girl's first impulse was to spring towards her new protectress and pour out her troubles to her, but in spite of herself she felt the impulse checked, and her overflowing heart chilled by the cold and supercilious look that made still more repellant a face repulsively plain.
Clotilde could only clasp her hands together and gaze at her new hostess, as if she felt that any appeal for help or pity from such a quarter would be hopeless.
"I presume, mademoiselle," said the Lady Superior at last, "that we may begin by taking it for granted that you quite understand the reasons which have induced your friends, for your own good as well as in your own interests, to take the course they have done."
These words were spoken in a voice so sweet, and with an air of such high and courtly breeding, that for a moment Clotilde forgot everything else in her surprise that they could belong to one so hideously ugly. But the feeling was only momentary; the terrors of the night, which might well have beaten down the boldest spirit, had passed away; and once more, face to face with one of her own sex, Clotilde was herself again.