“I was going to say, my dear, that we have not done everything in our power for you yet. We must not forget that we grave women must be dull companions for a girl like you.”
“It is not that, reverend mother. But I cannot stay here always.”
“You will find it a very different thing when you have a companion of your own age, which I hope will be the case very soon. There is a negotiation on foot respecting a sweet girl, every way worthy of being your companion—”
“But, madam, I do not want that—I do not wish for any companion while I am here. I had much rather be alone; but—”
“But you would like to leave us—eh? You would like to be on a plantation, where you could amuse yourself with playing with the little negroes, and driving about the country, and visiting your neighbours two or three times a week?”
Euphrosyne smiled, and plucked a twig to play with.
“You would like,” continued the abbess, “to live with accomplished people—to have a fine library, to lie on a couch and read during the hot hours; and to sing gay songs in the piazza in the evening.”
Euphrosyne smiled again.
“You would like,” the abbess went on, “to dance, night after night, and to make pic-nic parties to the cacao walks, and to the shore. You would like to win over your guardian to let you have your own way in everything: and, to be sure, in comparison with his house, our convent—”
“My guardian!” exclaimed Euphrosyne. “Live at Monsieur Critois’! Oh no!” And she laughed as she went on—