"No, my mother; I shall gladly do that or anything else whereby I may be useful to my companions," I answered. "I would rather be busy than not."
"That is well," said Mother Mary, relaxing a little, and evidently regarding me with more favor. "I wish all were like you, but I would in general rather have charge of twenty peasant girls than of one demoiselle. I dare say you will do nicely, child. I think I know the match that will just suit you."
"There will be two words to that bargain," I thought, but I said nothing.
Mother Mary then commended the simplicity of my dress, and a bell ringing she took me by the hand and led me to the schoolroom, where the young people were now all assembled. She placed me by the side of the same pale girl, whom she presented to me as Mademoiselle de Troyon, and saying that she would send me some knitting-needles and thread she left us together.
The other girls were busy, under the superintendence of the nuns, in making garments for themselves, and sad work they made of it, being more used to out-door than to indoor work. I believe, however, that a great deal of their bungling was sheer mischief, and I wondered at the patience of the nuns.
The requisite tools being produced, I set seriously to work to teach the stitch to my companion, and she took so much pains in learning that at the end of the lesson she could do a row very neatly. We Were placed near a window, apart from the others, and Mother Mary told us we might converse in low tones. Of course, like other young persons, we soon became acquainted. I found that her name was Desirée, that she was an orphan, and had always lived in a convent till very lately. She had a strong vocation, and wished to be allowed to take the veil instead of marrying, and she regarded with horror the prospect of being united to a stranger and living in a wild place, surrounded by forests full of wolves.
"But why do you not take the veil, since you wish it so much?" I asked.
"Because the king wishes two or three officers to marry and settle, and you and I are the only demoiselles who could be found to go out," was the answer. "But it does not matter," she added, with a kind of quiet resolution; "I know that I shall never live to see Canada."
"Dear Desirée, you should not be downcast," I said. "Things may turn out better than you think. Do not give up life for a bad business?"
She smiled sadly and shook her head, but said no more on the subject. We had a good dinner served to us by and by, and then two hours more of recreation in the garden, overlooked by the nuns who had us in charge. I was walking up and down an alley by myself when I met Sister St. Stanislaus, who joined me, and we walked together.