“Why impossible?” she said, in a coaxing voice. “It is settled for me to begin my novitiate at the Augustines; why should I not go out to Canada with you and enter the Ursulines? I should like it much better. It would be rather amusing teaching Indian children; and then you would not be alone.”
He looked down at her. The plan seemed to chime in with his dearest wishes. The General was a man devoted to his home and his children, and the thought of being separated from them all, though he accepted it as a necessity, was very painful to him. The sudden idea of having this child, his little Mercèdes, within reach, to whom he might speak of the dear absent ones, who in all things would sympathise with and understand him, was such an unexpected joy.
“Do you really mean it?” he asked.
“If I did not, should I propose it?” she answered. “You know I am of small account in the house, as it has always been settled I should be a nun; whether I am here or in Canada it can make no difference. I do not belong to the world, but to God; you and my mother gave me to Him when I was an infant; and think how happy I shall be if, whilst fulfilling my vocation, I can be a comfort to you, my dearest father,” and she clung to his arm.
“That you would most assuredly be,” he said; “the very fact of having you near me would be a comfort. But shall you not be afraid to go so far—to cross the sea, Mercèdes?”
She laughed such a bright, happy laugh. “Afraid of what?” she said. “Is not God with us always on sea or on land? And your daughter! Shall I dare to be afraid?”
Her father smiled. “Brave heart!” he said; “truly I do not see why you should not have your wish. A convent in France or in Canada, it cannot make much difference—except to me,” he added, and, stooping, he kissed the young, eager face.
“You will speak to mother then?” she said.
“Yes,” he answered thoughtfully. “If only I knew of some woman going out to Canada!”
“I know some one who would gladly go,” said Mercèdes.