“If not inconvenient or out of rule—” I began.
The shadow of a smile flitted across the nun’s pale, intellectual face; it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
“Not at all,” she replied, in the same even monotone. “The Countess Nina is, by her own desire, following a strict regime, but to-day being a universal feast-day all rules are somewhat relaxed. The reverend mother desires me to inform you that it is now the hour for mass—she has herself already entered the chapel. If you will share in our devotions, the countess shall afterward be informed of your presence here.”
I could do no less than accede to this proposition, though in truth it was unwelcome to me. I was in no humor for either prayers or praise; I thought moodily how startled even this impassive nun might have been, could she have known what manner of man it was that she thus invited to kneel in the sanctuary. However, I said no word of objection, and she bade me follow her. As we left the room I asked:
“Is the countess well?”
“She seems so,” returned Mère Marguerite; “she follows her religious duties with exactitude, and makes no complaint of fatigue.”
We were now crossing the hall. I ventured on another inquiry.
“She was a favorite pupil of yours, I believe?”
The nun turned her passionless face toward me with an air of mild surprise and reproof.
“I have no favorites,” she answered, coldly. “All the children educated here share my attention and regard equally.”