“Aha? C’est gentil!”
“That dear nun is really positively medieval!” was Mrs. Severing’s exasperated inward ejaculation after receiving this commentary upon her life-work.
But it was not Nina’s way to leave any possible stone unturned in the direction of obtaining that sympathetic admiration which she felt her nature to require.
“I came here to seek a little peace—a little forgetfulness,” was her next effort, this time in the vein of resigned pathos. “Ah, mother, you who live such a sheltered life—so free from trouble and temptation, can hardly guess what sorrows there are in the world.”
“Every life has its trials,” rather austerely replied Mère Pauline, not improbably reckoning the dissection of Mrs. Severing’s soul amongst these latter.
“I married very, very young—a child—and was left alone so early, with another child to guide and bring up. I have a son, you know.”
“Indeed? That must be a great consolation to you, madame.”
“Not altogether,” sighed Nina truthfully. “There are sorrows of which a mother does not speak.”
Mère Pauline appearing more nearly disposed to conform to this axiom than was altogether desirable, Nina was obliged to add hastily:
“But you will let me speak freely to you? Mine is a terribly reserved nature, and for so many years I have kept everything to myself.”