"I was left alone in the vault without a light. When the door was closed and locked upon me, I threw myself upon my couch of ashes. I was shivering with cold. The haircloth smarted me insupportably. The darkness frightened me. I recalled, poor dear mother, my own little chamber near yours, my bed that was so neat and white, and the kiss that every evening you came into my room and gave me before I fell asleep. I sobbed aloud. Little by little my tears ceased to flow. Numb with cold I slumbered till morning, the light of day reaching me through the airhole of my dungeon. I admit it, dear mother, and you will forgive my weakness, dejected by the sufferings of that first night, fearing I would be condemned to remain a long time in that dungeon, I resigned myself to agree to all that might be demanded of me. I wished above all to quit that gloomy place. I awaited impatiently the return of the nun, in order to make my submission to her. No one came, neither that day nor for about a week. I thought I would lose my senses. Every minute I shivered with fear. The very silence of that species of tomb inspired me with wild terrors. I moaned and called out to you, dear father and mother, as if you could hear me. I then fell down upon my couch of ashes, worn out. How sad was my soul!
"By little and little, however, I became accustomed to my prison, to my haircloth robe, to my bread, black and hard. Calmness returned to me. I said to myself: 'I am the victim of a wicked scheme. My parents have taught me it was our duty to sustain courageously the trials of life, and never to bow down before cowardice or slander. I shall perish in this convent, or leave it to return to my family.' I now waited for the nun, no longer in order to make my submission to her, but to announce to her my firm determination to resist her wishes. Vain expectations! For about another week no one came near. Instead of weakening, my determination grew more exalted in my solitude. I spent my days thinking of you. Often did the tension of my mind become so strong that I imagined I saw, I heard you. I then was no longer in that subterraneous dungeon; I was by your side, at our house. Every morning at awakening, I invoked heaven's blessing upon you. Then I would say to myself: 'Good morning, father, good morning, mother.' I would tell you all about my affliction and my sufferings; you encouraged me not to succumb in my cruel trial. Your wise and tender words comforted me. Then also my thoughts would wander to—
"I have hesitated to tell you the truth. But you taught me to abhor untruth and dissimulation. I shall continue. Only, dear mother, I know not whether, when you receive this letter, you will still be a prisoner and separated from father. If, on the contrary, you are again together, perhaps you should not let him know the passage you are about to read. Perhaps, and it is my ardent hope, father is ignorant of the circumstance that he whom I called brother—did—in a fit of insanity—
"My hand trembles at the bore recollection of that incident.
"During that horrible evening, before your unexpected return home, before I could understand the meaning of Hervé's words, he had himself enlightened me concerning the nature of the feelings that I entertained for Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. I have no doubt of it, at this hour. It was love I entertained for him. In the depth of my prison, during my nights of affliction, I could not prevent myself from thinking of you, without my thoughts running to him.
"That is the admission that a minute ago I hesitated to make. If that attachment is a guilty one, good mother, forgive me, it is involuntary.
"My thoughts wandered in my prison, beloved parents, no less to Brother St. Ernest-Martyr than to yourselves, resolved, as I was, to die here or rejoin you. Suddenly a cruel thought, that had not before occurred to me, flashed through my mind. To live by your side would be to live under the same roof with Hervé! I attributed—I still attribute the occurrences of that fatal night to a temporary derangement of his reason. You, no doubt, withheld the incident from father's knowledge. Hervé, once again returned to sanity, must have cursed his temporary aberration. His repentence must have moved you. One is indulgent towards crazy people! Nevertheless the mere thought of seeing him again caused me to shudder. The only hope that had hitherto sustained me, the hope of spending my life near you, as of yore, drooped its wings. It seemed to me impossible ever after to support the sight of Hervé. As I was a prey to these new and painful thoughts, one morning the door of my cell was opened and the turning-box attendant entered, followed by the other nuns.
"'Are you now more docile?' she asked. 'Do you now consent to receive the religious instruction necessary to take the vows of the Order of the Augustinians?'
"'No!' I screamed. 'You will gain nothing from me, either by persuasion, or force. I shall remain faithful to my belief!'
"At a sign from the nun two of the turning-box attendants fell upon me. Despite all my struggles, my tears, and my cries, they stripped me of my haircloth robe, the only clothing I had on; they held me fast; and their two other companions flagellated me mercilessly. Shame and pain—my shoulders and bosom ran blood under the lacerating lashing—wrung from me a cowardly entreaty. I promised absolute submission. My obedience appeased my torturers. I was taken back to my nun's cell. For a first proof of my submission I was to consent that very day to confess to one of the Augustinian monks under whose direction the convent stood, and one of whom was to be charged with imparting religious instruction to me. Towards noon I was conducted to the chapel. Oh, mother, what a surprise was in store for me! At the very first words that the monk, who occupied the confessional, addressed to me, I recognized the voice of St. Ernest-Martyr. I took myself for saved. I gave him my name; I informed him of our arrest; I conjured him to hunt up my father and my dear uncle Josephin, who surely must have remained at large, and notify them where you and I were held in confinement. Alas, my hopes were but short-lived! Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, himself an object of suspicion to the other monks and especially to the Abbot of the convent, was not allowed to go out. For several days he had been a prisoner in his own cell, which he left only to fulfil his ministry in the Augustinian Convent, which he reached through an underground passage that joined the two monasteries. I asked him whether it would be possible for him to have a letter reach my family. He doubted whether I would be allowed to write; furthermore, he did not, on his part, see any means by which my missive could reach its destination, such was the surveillance under which he himself was held. I narrated to him the recent ordeals and the trials that I underwent since my entrance in the convent. I heard him cry in the dark. I then entreated him to counsel me. He answered: