"But it was not the wish of madame your mother. Do you remember how often she jested with me about my little wife—you cannot have forgotten those happy childish days."
I was blushing painfully, for the Superior's impatience, as the conversation became more and more perilous, was marked and oppressive, though my soldierly cousin heeded the old lady not in the least.
"Oh, Eulalie," he continued, "I trust you have weighed the matter well. Life is a precious gift, and not to be trifled with."
I became painfully agitated; but, as my mother's name filled my eyes with tears, Cousin Adrien changed the subject.
"And you leave Paris?" I asked.
"Very soon, unless you would wish me to remain a little time, to see you again; but I am already, I fear, a suspected man. The son of the Chevalier Major de Losme, is nowhere safe in France," he added bitterly; "and so the veil is your choice, my beautiful cousin. I dare not congratulate you; but I pray in my inmost heart, that you may be happy, dear Eulalie!"
He bowed and retired, but his voice seemed to linger in my ear. The brow of our reverend mother was clouded, and I hurried to my little cell full of new and strange thoughts. I cast myself upon my bed and wept, I knew not why. I strove to thrust aside the image of my cousin—to turn my mind to prayer and the duties of my office; but in vain; the handsome form and figure of the dark and sad-eyed young man, in his white uniform and gold aiguilettes still hovered before me, and I began to wonder when he would visit me again.
"This is quite natural; there is nothing wrong in the interest I feel in Adrien," said I; "he is my kinsman, the nephew of my dear mother, who is now in heaven."
"It matters not, Eulalie," said the superior, who followed me one day and overheard my remark; "you must think no more of him; bend your thoughts in prayer, and say a Salve Regina daily; each morning and evening intreat the protection of St. Ursule, and shun alike the society and the sophistries of that vile woman Karalio, whose writings have corrupted Paris and are tainting you."
I endeavoured to do all this; but my cousin's next visit overturned every little plan, and I now began to perceive that I had viewed seclusion on one hand, and the external world on the other, through false mediums. I was no longer content and tranquil; I still prayed with ardour, but prayer soon became a task,—my thoughts rebelled against myself, and strayed ever from the duties set before me.