Flee from our pleasures full of saintly austerity:
All here breathes of God, of peace, and pure verity.
“I cried towards the end, and Madame de Rochechouart also. The chorus was sung and a ballet was danced while I dressed. After the performance, as soon as she saw me, Madame de Rochechouart held out her arms to me; I rushed into them, and she folded me to her heart. She did not hide her great partiality for me.
“I was so happy at that time that I should have been glad for it to last for ever. I had at last been appointed to the dispensary,[83] which had been the summit of my ambition, and I lived there very pleasantly. I was with Madame de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, Mademoiselle de Montsauge, and Mademoiselle de Damas, all of whom were pretty and amiable.
“Among the nuns Madame de Saint Côme was a person of rare amiability; Madame de Saint Laurent, who was of the Cossé family, was witty and scatterbrained. Madame Sainte Marguerite, who was only sixteen years old, had just taken her vows, and thought only of amusing herself. Madame Sainte Véronique was a ridiculous old woman, without a particle of common sense, and that in itself was a source of amusement. Madame de Saint Côme taught us botany; she taught us to know all the different plants and their virtues. In the evening we went to Madame de Rochechouart’s. I would have liked to have spent my life in that way.
“I have said that there were six of us in the dispensary. Here are our portraits, all faithful likenesses: Madame la Duchesse de Choiseul, fifteen years old, married, pretty, amiable, bright, witty, but satirical, violent, and hot-tempered. Mademoiselle Hélène Massalska (myself), fourteen years old, pretty, clever, graceful, stylish, a good figure, as stubborn as the Pope’s mule, and incapable of controlling her first impulse. Mademoiselle de Damas,[84] pretty, most graceful, but with more jargon than wit, sixteen years of age. Mademoiselle de Montsauge, the most beautiful eyes in the world, but with a dark complexion, gentle, witty, fifteen years old. Mademoiselle de Conflans,[85] rather pretty, remarkably brilliant and full of wit, aged fifteen. Her sister, Mademoiselle de Vaudreuil, was not pretty; she tried to copy her sister, but was far from being so clever.
“One morning, Madame de Rochechouart said to me: ‘Hélène, come to me at six o’clock; I want to speak to you.’ I went therefore, according to the order I had received; but she only said to me: ‘My dear child, I am very sorry, but I cannot talk to you now; my head is burning, and I feel feverish; you must go away, and I must go to bed.’ I returned to the dispensary, which was my department, and said that I had found Madame de Rochechouart ill. As this was very seldom the case with her, Madame de Ferrière and Madame de Cossé, the second and third dispensary nuns, went to her immediately. When Madame de Ferrière returned she told us she had found Madame de Rochechouart in a high fever. We were all seized with the greatest apprehension; on going to the refectory we carried the news to all the class, and the consternation was general. After supper Sister Léonard, who waited on Madame de Rochechouart, came with a message from her to say our names would not be called over; and we went sorrowfully to bed. The next day, on going down to the schoolroom, we were told that the fever had increased, and that Madame de Rochechouart was going to be taken to the infirmary. Then we all burst into tears; Madame de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, myself, and a few others were in dreadful grief. The Duchesse de Mortemart[86] came in the afternoon, bringing with her Bouvart[87] and Lorry.[88] The same evening Madame de Rochechouart became delirious, and remained in that state till the eve of her death.
“Meanwhile, the masters were dismissed, we left off playing at any games, and were in a state of utter despair. Every hour one of the pupils went to ask for news at the infirmary. The Lady Abbess went herself every day to see her. The Duc de Mortemart and his brother were admitted.[89] The Duchesse de Mortemart remained day and night by her beside. Mademoiselle de Mortemart seemed sad, but less afflicted than we were: it is true that her aunt had never cared much for her. At last, after eleven days of continuous fever, the doctors declared that she could not recover, and that the Sacraments must be administered as soon as she should become conscious.
“The following day, the twelfth of her illness, towards the morning, she appeared to recover consciousness. She was asked, by way of precaution, if she would not receive the Sacraments, and she made a sign of assent. They were therefore administered, and although it is the custom for the pupils to assist at these ceremonies from the passage of the infirmary, as it was feared that our cries might be heard from her room, and that some of us might try to see her, we were conducted during that time to the choir.
“At night her agony began; but they did not toll the bell, as is customary at such moments, partly because of the pupils, and also on account of Madame Sainte Delphine, who had fallen into a state of stupor. From the moment she had seen her sister’s illness take a fatal turn she had not left the foot of her bed, but after the Sacraments had been administered, the Duchesse de Mortemart conferred in a low voice with the Lady Abbess, and told Madame Sainte Delphine that she begged her not to spend the night in the infirmary. The Lady Abbess told her she insisted on her going, and gave orders to Madame Saint Sulpice not to leave her. So she was taken to the dispensary, where we all, belonging to that department, spent the night in weeping.