I thanked the good sister, for whom I had already conceived a great regard, and she withdrew. I was glad enough to obey her recommendation and go to rest, for between fatigue and excitement I was fairly worn-out. The bed, though narrow and hard, was very clean, and smelled of lavender. I read in my Gospel as long as the fading light would allow, and then, carefully concealing it, I said my prayers and lay down, feeling greatly comforted and reassured, though I should have been puzzled to account for my state of mind. Certainly, my circumstances were not promising.
[CHAPTER XXI.]
THE CONVENT.
I SLEPT till waked by the rays of the sun coming through the uncurtained window. It was yet early, but I heard people astir, so I got up. I dressed myself neatly in one of my new gowns, and put up my hair under a white kerchief. I could not but smile as I regarded myself in the little mirror contained in my étui, and thought of the contrast between my present plain woollen dress and that my aunt had been so solicitous about when I was presented to Monsieur de Luynes. I was still holding the mirror in my hand when Sister St. Stanislaus entered.
"Good-morning, my child."
Then, catching sight of what I held, "A mirror? Why, I have not seen one in years. Put it away! Put it away! We have no such vanities here. Or, stay!" she added wistfully. "It could not do any harm to take one look."
I handed her the little glass. She regarded herself long and earnestly. Then, handing it back to me:
"There, put it away. I should never have known my own face. I am properly punished for my vanity. And yet I was pretty once—as pretty as you are."