"And that we—but there is no use in talking!" added Sister Benedict, catching the Mother's eye. "It is too abominable!"
At last it came to Amabel's turn and mine; and hand in hand, as usual, we entered the parlor.
The Bishop had evidently talked himself into high good humor by this time, for he was laughing and offering his snuff-box to his companions. "Ah! And here are the lambs of the flock!" said he, as we somewhat timidly drew near the grating. "Come near, my little daughters, and fear nothing."
He then asked us several questions in a fatherly sort of way, about our families, and we told him all we knew, which was not much.
"And how do you use your time? Come, now," addressing himself to me, "think, and tell me exactly what you were doing, when you were called to the Superior on this occasion."
"I was brushing St. Francis' hair, Mon seignor," I answered simply.
"Brushing St. Francis' hair? What does the child mean; one has heard of dressing St. Catherine's hair, but never of St. Francis', as I think." *
* "Dressing St. Catherine's hair" is a kind of proverbial expression for being an old maid.
I explained, that I was assisting Sister Sacristine to prepare the Church for to-morrow's feast day.
"Ah! Very well, very good—and you, my child?" turning to Amabel!