"Pardon me, holy mother, but I would speak to my sisters."
"Then first place yourself, my dear child, in your abbatial seat," said the princess; "it is from thence your voice shall be heard."
"That place, holy mother, never can be mine!" replied Fleur-de-Marie, in a low and tremulous voice.
"What mean you, my dear daughter?"
"So high a dignity was not made for me, holy mother."
"But the wishes of all your sisters call you to it."
"Permit me, holy mother, to make here, on my knees, a solemn confession; and my sisters will see, and you, also, holy mother, that the humblest condition is not humble enough for me."
"This arises from your modesty, my dear child," said the superior, with kindness, believing that the unhappy girl was giving way to a feeling of overdelicacy.
But I divined the confession Fleur-de-Marie was about to make, and, greatly alarmed, I exclaimed, in a voice of entreaty:
"My child, I conjure thee—"