“I owe him all that I can do. I ask one favour of you, madam. Let no one speak to me about him—never again. No one can understand what he was to me—what care he took of me—how he used to love me. Oh, madam, is it quite certain—are you quite sure that those things are true?”
“My child, do not give me the pain of explaining more. As you say, let this never again be spoken of.—I propose to you, Euphrosyne, to make a virtuous effort.”
“Not to come down this evening, madam?”
“Yes, my child, to come down this evening. I think it of importance that Madame Ogé should not discover how she has wounded you, and that nothing should occur to fix her attention on the descendant of one who was active in procuring the death of her sons. Trust me, my dear, it is worth an effort to prevent Madame Ogé leaving this house your enemy.”
“I do not care for it, madam. Let her hate me. She is quite welcome.”
“You are thinking only of yourself, Euphrosyne. I am thinking also of her. Consider how sore a heart she carries within her. Consider how wretched her life has been made by the enmities in which she has lived. Will you not save her one more? You have professed to pity her. Now you can show if your pity is real, by saving her from a new enmity.”
“I am willing to do that: but how can I speak to her? How can we know what things she may say?”
“You shall not converse with her again. The table is spread. Go down now, and take your place at the foot, beside sister Claire. When we rise from table, I will dismiss you to your room as in course.”
“I wish that time was come,” sighed Euphrosyne, as she languidly arranged her hair.
The abbess stroked her pale cheek, as she said that in an hour she would be glad the effort was made.