The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"And the holy Magdalene after her brother was restored!" said I. (Roman Catholics believe that Mary Magdalene, and the woman who was a sinner, who anointed our Lord's feet, were one and the same person, though there seems to us little or no ground in the scripture for such an idea.) "They were really people, were they not, and felt as we should do?"

"Exactly, my daughter. That is what I wish you to consider. People lose half the benefit of the examples of the holy saints and martyrs, because they do not consider them to have been of the same flesh and blood as themselves."

I have been obliged to the good father all my life for this idea, and especially since I have myself had the instructing of children in the truths of religion. But this is by the way.

Besides being a famous gardener, Father Brousseau had a competent knowledge of surgery and medicine, and made himself very useful in prescribing for the poor people round us. His medicines were generally such as our pharmacy at the convent could provide, especially a bitter cordial, made of orange peel, chamomile, and some of the aromatic herbs with which that country abounds. I have the recipe for this cordial, which I have helped to distil by the gallon. It is excellent for ague and consumption.

It was this medical knowledge of our confessor's which made him a welcome visitor at the Chateau de Crequi, even after the count had quarrelled with our superior. Madame de Crequi was a confirmed invalid, suffering terrible pain and distress at times, from some trouble in her breast. She had had endless doctors who had done her no good but rather harm, and in her despair, hearing of our confessor's gifts in that line, she sent for him. He was, happily, able greatly to alleviate her present suffering, though he told her frankly that there was no cure possible; and he had thus made the poor lady his friend. He had also cured the count's chaplain from a fever which threatened his life.

One day, it happened that the priest was sent for in great haste to see a favorite maid of the countess, who was taken suddenly and violently ill. (I learned all this long afterward, for of course I was not told it at the time.) He returned in the afternoon, and we saw him going in a great hurry to the superior's apartment.

In about half an hour, Mother Prudentia came out, looking a good deal excited, and summoned the whole family to a conference. It was in recreation time, I remember, and we were almost all busy in capturing a vagrant brood of half-grown chickens, which had escaped from their proper quarters, as it seemed, for the express purpose of scratching up a newly planted bed of salad. We were in a great frolic over the chase, for nuns are like children in their hours of recreation—a little thing serves to amuse them. It was therefore with considerable surprise that we obeyed the summons to the superior's presence.

We found the lady pale and evidently much disturbed, though she preserved her usual calmness of voice and demeanor. In a few words, she told us of the danger that was impending over us. She had received sure intelligence that the convent was to be attacked that very night by a band of robbers, pillaged and perhaps burned to the ground.

Even the strict habits of convent discipline could not repress a universal cry of dismay from the sisterhood; but I must say, that after the first alarm, they all behaved wonderfully well. The Reverend Mother raised her hand to impose silence, and was at once obeyed.

"We have no means of defending ourselves, and no time to send to the Bishop for assistance before our foes will be upon us!" said she. "I have taken council with our Reverend Father, and he agrees with me, that our only chance of safety is, to take refuge in the vaults under the old part of the house."