"Try to get up, my dear child," said the mother, approaching Dolores with a vague distrust, for this sprain seemed to her quite unnatural.
"Oh, impossible, madame, I cannot make a movement."
"But try, at least."
"I wish I could."
And the young girl made a show of wishing to stand up, but she fell again on her knees, with a shriek that could be heard on the other side of the garden wall.
Then Dolores said, with a groan:
"You see, madame, it is impossible for me to move. I pray you return to the house, and tell some one to come for me with a chair or a litter. Oh, how I suffer! My God, how I suffer! For pity's sake, madame, go back quick to the house; it is so far, I shall never be able to drag myself there."
"Mademoiselle," cried the mother superior, "I am not your dupe! You have no more of a sprain than I have, it is an abominable falsehood! You wish, I know not for what reason, to send me away, and remain alone in the garden. Ah, indeed you make me repent of my condescension."
The light noise of a few pebbles falling across the boughs of the trees attracted the attention of the mother superior and Dolores, who, radiant with delight, leaped up with a bound, exclaiming:
"There he is!"