The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"So you have been in England," said she. "Can you speak English?"

I told her I could.

"I knew a girl who could speak English once," said she. "It was when I was at Sartilly, as I told you. Poor Lucille! She came to a sad end."

"What happened to her?" I asked, with a beating heart.

"Oh, I don't know whether I should tell the story, though to be sure it may be a warning," said the sister, divided between, her discretion and the dear delight of telling a tale. "You see she was one of those unfortunate Reformed, to begin with, and she could not conquer her natural affection for her relations; She had a lover also, it seems, and she slipped out of the gate one day to speak to him, and was seen to give him a packet. Well, of course, being a postulant under instruction, that brought upon her great disgrace and many penances. If I had been to decide, I should have said they took just the way to make her regret her lover all the more.

"However, she was forgiven at last and taken into favor again, but it was not long before she got into some new trouble by a hasty answer. I must say she had a trying temper, always looking out for affronts. After that she grew very odd and silent. I was mistress of the novices at that time, and I tried hard to win her confidence, but in vain. At last, oh, poor thing! She was missing, and we found a part of her clothing hanging on a bush some way down the river, which was very high at the time. Either she drowned herself or fell in and was unable to get out. I hope the latter, for I was fond of her, though she made me a good deal of trouble. I have never ceased to pray for her soul," said the good sister, wiping her eyes, which had overflowed plentifully. "If she is beyond the reach of prayers, they may benefit some other poor soul in purgatory. There, now, I have made you cry too. What a tender heart you have! Let it be a warning to you, my child."

I wondered what the story was meant to warn me from, but I said nothing, and we began to talk of other things till the sister left me, and then I had my cry out. Poor Lucille! So this was the end. And she had actually fallen into disgrace for trying to warn my parents of their danger! It was very sad, and yet somehow I felt comforted about her, I could not tell why. I was just recovering my composure when I met Mother Superior and Mother Mary of the Incarnation walking together. The latter seemed to be laying down the law in rather an authoritative style, I thought, to which the Superior listened with some apparent impatience, and at last broke out with:

"No doubt, sister, you may be right. I dare say you know how to rule your own house to perfection. I am sure if I were visiting you, I should never think for a moment of advising you upon the management of your family."

Mother Mary was not so dead to worldly affection but that she reddened visibly at this significant speech. She made no reply to the Superior, but turned sharply upon me.

"What are you doing here by yourself, child? Crying, I see. That is very wrong. Understand, once for all, that you are not to separate yourself in this way from your companions. You are not so very much better than they. Let me see no more of it!"