"In a wall, you know,: said Mabel, pointing explainingly at the pink and gilt roses of the wall-paper, "shut up to kill them. That's what they do to you in convents."
"Not at all," said Mademoiselle; "in convents are very kind good women; there is but one thing in convents that is detestable the locks on the doors. Sometimes people cannot get out, especially when they are very young and their relations have placed them there for their welfare and happiness. But brick how you say it? enwalling ladies to kill them. No it does itself never. And this lord he did not then seek his lady?"
"Oh, yes he sought her right enough," Mabel assured her; "but there are millions of convents, you know, and he had no idea where to look, and they sent back his letters from the post-office, and "
"Ciel!" cried Mademoiselle, "but it seems that one knows all in the housekeeper's saloon."
"Pretty well all," said Mabel simply.
"And you think he will find her? No?"
"Oh, he'll find her all right," said Mabel, "when he's old and broken down, you know and dying; and then a gentle Sister of Charity will soothe his pillow, and just when he's dying she'll reveal herself and say: 'My own lost love!' and his face will light up with a wonderful joy and he'll expire with her beloved name on his parched lips."
Mademoiselle's was the silence of sheer astonishment. "You do the prophecy, it appears?" she said at last. "Oh no," said Mabel; "I got that out of a book. I can tell you lots more fatal love-stories any time you like."
The French governess gave a little jump, as though she had suddenly remembered something.
"It is nearly dinner-time," she said. "Your friend Mabelle, yes will be your convivial, and in her honour we will make a little feast. My beautiful flowers put them to the water, Kathleen. I run to buy the cakes. Wash the hands, all, and be ready when I return."