“There is only one will do again,” answered Mother Gaillarde. “Saint Raphael is tolerable; he might serve. But I know the Archangel Michael had one of his wings broken; and the Apostle Saint Peter lost a leg.”
“We had a lovely Satan among those Easter figures,” said Sister Ismania; “and Saint John was so charming, I never saw his equal.”
“Satan may do again if he gets a new tail,” said Mother Gaillarde. “But Pontius Pilate won’t; that careless Sister Jacoba let him drop, and he was mashed all to pieces.”
“Your pardon, Mother, but that was Judas Iscariot.”
“It wasn’t: it was Pontius Pilate.”
“I am sure it was Judas.”
“I tell you it wasn’t.”
“But, Mother, I—”
“Hold your tongue!” said Mother Gaillarde, curtly.
And being bidden by her superior, of course Sister Ismania had to obey. I looked across at Margaret, and met her eyes. And, as Margaret’s eyes always do, they spoke.