‘Most grievous news had been given her concerning a matter that must be dealt with without delay. She would ask all the demoiselles in turn if they had left their bedrooms on Wednesday evening.’
‘No, Madame.’
‘No, Madame,’ in voices of conscious rectitude, as one girl after another was asked by name. It was also the answer of Jeanne and Julie. Then: ‘Mademoiselle Troqueville, did you leave your bedroom on Wednesday evening?’
There was a pause, and then came the answer: ‘Yes, Madame.’
All eyes were turned on her, and Julie, covertly, put out her tongue.
‘Mesdemoiselles, you may all go, excepting Mademoiselle Troqueville.’
Madeleine noticed that the Reverend Mother had a small mole on her cheek, she had not seen it before.
Then came such a scolding as she had never before experienced. Much mention was made of ‘obedience,’ ‘chastity,’ ‘Anti-Christ,’ ‘the enemies of the King and the Church.’ What had they to do with walking across the garden and opening a gate? Perhaps she had shown too much leg in climbing out of the window—that would, at least, account for the mention of chastity.
The Reverend Mother had asked if any one had left their bedroom—that was all—and Madeleine had. And to her mind, dulled, and, as is often the case, made stupidly literal by sheer terror, this fact had lost all connection with Jeanne’s and Julie’s escapade, and seemed, by itself, the cause of this mysterious tirade. It certainly was wrong to have left her bedroom—but why did it make her ‘an enemy of the King’?
She found herself seizing on a word here and there in the torrent and spelling it backwards.