An elderly nun rode up to the young abbess and quickly whispered to her that it was indecorous to hold converse with the champion of the heretics and one going to join the rebels against the King.
The abbess listened without a blush, then again turned her serene steady gaze on the Prince.
"I am Charlotte de Bourbon, daughter of the Duke de Montmorency, and Abbess of Joüarrs," she said, "so you will understand, Monseigneur, why I cannot longer speak with you."
William understood; the Duke de Montmorency was one of the hottest Catholic nobles and one of the chiefs of the party against which Condé was struggling.
"I have been an abbess since I was twelve," continued the nun, "and know very little of the world—but I may say, God keep you, and have no stain on my conscience."
Without waiting for an answer she touched up her horse and passed on, the little train of nuns rapidly following.
The Prince was almost startled by the earnestness of the abbess's last words, which seemed full of vivid meaning.
"Had she not been a nun and Montmorency's daughter," he said, "I should have thought she blessed us."
"It is a sweet woman," remarked Louis, "that they have stifled in that habit."
The Prince watched the nuns go their way until the turn of the winding road had hidden them, then went back to the camp, to go his way of exile and ruin and loneliness.