The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"You are pretty now," said I, with truth; for her face, though irregular, and one which must have owed much to complexion, was still pleasing from its kindliness. "I loved you the moment I saw you."

"Ah, my child, you are a flatterer! Young people do usually like me, but they say it is only because I spoil them so. Well, if you are ready, we will go to the chapel."

I followed the sister along the same gallery across the open court, and then into the convent church, where my companions for the voyage were already assembled. Here she placed me by the side of a pale, frightened-looking girl, younger than myself, and retired to take her place in the choir with the other sisters.

I had only time to glance at my future companions before the service began. They were evidently mostly of the peasant class, and did not as a rule look at all oppressed by their destiny, although two or three had red eyes, and one at least was the picture of despair. I was sure I had seen her before, though I could not tell where.

After the service we breakfasted together, while one of the nuns read aloud the life of some juvenile saint or other, of whom I remember no more than that she sat all day in the hen-house and wept for her sins, and gave large gifts to the poor out of the property of her worldly father and brother, who opposed her vocation. *

* I cannot now place this paragon of goodness, though she is no creation of mine. My impression is that I found her in the lives of the Franciscans.—L. E. G.

After breakfast my companions went to the gardens for an hour's recreation, but I was called into the private apartment of the Mother Superior. I found the good mother seated in her chair of state, attended by a nun and another lady in a semi-conventual dress, whom I found was the famous Mary of the Incarnation.

This lady was born of a family named Guyard. Married at eighteen, not very happily it seems, her husband died after two years, leaving her with a young son. But she was far too pious to concern herself with the care of her infant, so she turned it over to her sister and busied herself with all sorts of penances, meditations, and ecstasies in washing dishes, scrubbing floors, and, in short, performing all sorts of work to which she had no call, while the work which Providence had put into her hands—that of caring for her baby—was delegated to another. For a good while, the love she still cherished for this child kept her from the cloister, but at last she made a profession and adhered to it, though the boy, half crazed by his loss, made his way into the refectory of the convent, and with tears and screams of anguish besought the nuns to give him back his mother. The poor young fellow went to the bad altogether afterward, and no wonder. One would not expect him to have much regard for religion.

Having, however, conquered the last small remnant of natural affection which remained in her heart, she was rewarded by a wonderful vision, in which she was advertised that the Virgin called her specially to Canada.

Thither she repaired, in company with several other Ursuline nuns, and the famous Madame de Pellice, who made a mock marriage in order to carry out her devout schemes. She remained in Canada many years, and having come to France on some important business, was returning, having in charge twenty young women and two nuns.