‘Oh, do you think it may?’ Madeleine cried eagerly.
‘’Tis a strange thing, but many go away from here comforted. It is richly blessed.’
‘I wonder,’ Madeleine began hesitatingly. ‘I fear ’tis asking too much—but if I could but have a relic of the blessed Mère Madeleine de Saint-Joseph! The world reports her relics more potent than any other Saint’s.’ (In spite of the efforts of many great French ladies, Mère Madeleine de Saint-Joseph had not been canonised. Madeleine knew this, but she thought she would please the Carmelite by ignoring it.)
At Madeleine’s words the little nun wriggled her body into a succession of Gallic contortions, in which eyebrows and hands played a large part, expressive of surprise, horror, and complete inability to grant such an outrageous request. But Madeleine pleaded hard, and after a dissertation on the extraordinary virtue of the habit, and a repeated reiteration that there were only one or two scraps of it left, the Carmelite finally promised that one of these scraps should be Madeleine’s.
She went into the Convent and came back with a tiny piece of frayed cloth, and muttering a prayer she fixed it inside Madeleine’s bodice.
Madeleine was almost too grateful to say ‘thank you.’
‘All the greatest ladies of the Court and the Town are wont to wear a portion of the sacred habit,’ the nun continued complacently. Madeleine found herself wondering quite seriously if the mère Madeleine de Saint-Joseph had been a Gargamelle in proportions.
‘To speak truth, it must have been a huge and capacious garment!’ she said in all good faith. The nun gave her a quick look out of her shrewd little eyes, but ignored the remark.
‘And now Mademoiselle will give us a contribution for our Order, will she not?’ she said insinuatingly. Madeleine was much taken aback. She blushed and said,—
‘Oh, in earnest ... ’tis accordant with my wishes ... but ... er ... how much?’