“Gracious goodness, no,” said Marie; “why, Annot, where did you get such a horrid idea as that?”
“Ah! Mademoiselle, your lover’s one in a hundred! So handsome, so noble, so good, so grand, so amiable, so everything that a young lady could wish to dream about: one, too, that never has vagaries and jealousies, and nasty little aggravating ways. Oh! Mademoiselle, I look upon you as the happiest young lady in the world.
“What on earth, Annot, do you know about my lover, or how on earth can you know that I have a lover at all? Why, child, I and my cousin Agatha are both going to be nuns at St. Laurent.”
“The blessed Virgin forbid it,” said Annot. “Not but what Mademoiselle Agatha would look beautiful as a nun. She has the pale face, and the long straight nose, and the calm melancholy eyes, just as a nun ought to have; but then she should join the Carmelite ladies at the rich convent of our Blessed Lady at St. Maxent, where they all wear beautiful white dresses and white hoods, and have borders to their veils, and look so beautiful that there need hardly be any change in them when they go to heaven; and not become one of those dusty-musty black sisters of mercy at St. Laurent.”
“That’s your idea of a nun, is it?” said Madame de Lescure.
“I’m sure, Madame, I don’t know why any girl should try to make herself look ugly, if God has made her as beautiful as Mademoiselle Agatha.”
“And you think then Mademoiselle de Lescure is not fit for a nun at all?”
“Oh, Madame, we all know she is going to be married immediately to the finest, handsomest, most noble young nobleman in all Poitou. Oh! I’d give all the world to have such a lover as M. Henri just for ten minutes, to see him once kneeling at my feet.”
“For ten minutes,” said Marie. “What good would that do you? that would only make you unhappy when the ten minutes were gone and past.”
“Besides, what would you say to him in that short time?” said Madame de Lescure.