"Madame! Is it possible, that I see before me Jacqueline de Rozier?"
It was now the turn of the Abbess to change color. She grew very white, but it was with a steady voice that she answered—"That was my name in the world, Mon seignor—and you?—"
"And I am Henri Garnier—" said the Bishop.
"They told me that you had died in the Indies, by the bite of a poisonous serpent," said the Superior, who had quite recovered her color. "I rejoice Mon seignor, to see you in life and health and filling such an exalted station."
Now at that time of my life I had so far as I know, never even seen the outside of a romance—or heard a love-story—yet I knew in a moment that the Superior and the Bishop had once been in love with each other. I ventured to glance at Mother Bursar, and saw those rebellious dimples of hers, dancing for a moment round the corners of her mouth, though she speedily reduced them to order.
"I was indeed bitten by a serpent in the Island of Martinique, and lay at the very point of death when my regiment sailed for France!" said the Bishop. "I recovered however at last, and by grace of Mary, was led to devote myself to a religious life as well as yourself. Madame, the Superior, and myself are cousins and were playmates in our childhood," he added, turning to his attendants—this time with real dignity of manner. "We have not met since we were both quite young. I rejoice to find her in such a useful and honorable position."
The priests made no answer, but I saw a sly glance of amusement pass between them.
"And now to business!" said the Bishop. "Madame, you have for some time had in your family a pupil and postulant named Desireè de La Mothe, daughter of the present Countess de Crequi by a former husband!"
"It is true, Mon seignor! The young lady in question was returned to her friends about two weeks since."
"And why was she so returned since you had received her as a postulant?"