There was something so cordial, and withal so winning, in the tone with which she spoke these words, that Marie pressed her extended hand to her lips with the utmost sincerity, and covered it with kisses. She longed to throw herself into the arms of this gracious lady, and weep away her sorrow as she would on a mother’s breast. Her longing was so overpowering that she sank upon her knees and moistened the abbess’s hand with her tears.
“Save me, gracious lady, save me,” she implored. “I am the victim of a conspiracy. They have deceived me, brought me here by force, and torn me from all that is dear and sacred to me.”
The astonished abbess cast an inquiring glance at the Bishop. “The novice,” he said in reply to it, “is here because it is the wish of her guardian, a lord of Luxemburg, who alone has authority to act for her. Therefore it is idle to talk of force. To your—”
“I am not a novice,” cried Marie, rising. “I am Marie of Chafleur. My guardian has control of my property, but he has no right arbitrarily to dispose of my person.”
“I trust your ability,” resumed the Bishop, “to remove these worldly ideas, which are unbecoming within these sacred walls, and to implant in this perverse soul the spirit of quiet resignation and Christian humility. I authorize you to employ all the means which are at your command to produce this result, and I have no doubt of their efficacy.”
The last words were spoken with a peculiar intonation which was in the nature of a command to the abbess, but of the significance of which the poor child had not the most remote idea. The abbess, who understood well enough what was expected from her, made a quiet sign of assent, and the two men took their leave, firmly convinced that their work was completed successfully.
Marie was assigned to the usual cell and left alone. She first went to the grated window. It looked out only upon the yard. With a pitiful sob she threw herself upon the hard couch. Her tears flowed, and she gave vent to her anguish in melancholy ejaculations. At last she knelt before the crucifix and poured out her aching heart in long and fervent prayer. Again she quietly sought her couch. She was now able to think calmly over recent events. As she was ignorant of what was in store for her, she was still buoyant with the hopefulness of youth. She thought of La Hire, whom she had known as an honorable knight. The image of the young man also mingled pleasantly in her thoughts of the future. She decided she would write again to La Hire. He could not have deserted her. Thus consoling herself, she sank into kindly slumber. Poor child! Little she knew that her letters could not find their way into the outside world without first being read by the superior.
One day two nuns, commissioned to acquaint her with the rules of the Ursuline order, visited her. Her declaration that she did not wish to know them made no impression upon the sisters. They performed their duty, and then withdrew to make their report. Shortly afterwards another sister entered, and summoned the novice to prepare herself by prayer and fasting for the vow which she was shortly to take.
“What means this farce?” said Marie. “I am not a novice. I will not join your order. I will not take a vow.”
“Our wishes are useless within these walls,” replied the sister. “We must do what the superior, the abbess, and the rules of the order command.”