“Of course I will,” exclaimed Lily. “And, Cristina, I hope you will allow me to help you a little in the housework?”
A curious look—was it of surprise or gratitude?—perhaps something of both—quivered for a moment over Cristina’s pale face. “You are very good,” she said quietly. “There is a good deal of work sometimes—when we have visitors.”
The water was now boiling, and as she spoke she took the egg out of the saucepan, and put it deftly into the egg-cup. And then, after Lily had sat down, the old woman stood and watched her eat. Had not the girl been so very hungry she would have felt a little shy and awkward under that silent, tense scrutiny.
Cristina suddenly observed: “I suppose Mademoiselle is a Protestant?”
Lily looked up. “Yes, of course I am.”
A sad look came over Cristina’s face. “Mademoiselle looks so good, so pure,” she murmured. “I thought perhaps that Mademoiselle was thinking of being a nun.”
“Oh, no, indeed I’m not!” Lily laughed outright, for the first time in this strange house.
“I myself,” said Cristina slowly, “at one time hoped to be a nun.” And then, clasping her hands, and with an emotion which transformed her quietude into something which greatly startled Lily, so violent and unexpected was it, her pale face became convulsed. “The devil prevented my becoming a nun. But for the devil I should now be a good and perhaps even a holy woman!”
Her breast heaved—she seemed extraordinarily moved and distressed.
Lily jumped up—not perhaps quite so surprised as she would have been but for some of her experiences with the more emotional Belgians. “I’m quite sure that you are a very good woman,” she said kindly.