An involuntary shriek from Sister Stanislaus brought all the nuns and pupils in alarm to the spot. Celeste had entered the forbidden room—had, by some accident, broken the beautiful and costly statue; that was a fact self-evident to all. She did not attempt to deny it—her trembling lips could frame no words, while the real culprits stood boldly by, silent and unsuspected.
Celeste was led away to appear before "Mother Vincent," and answer the heavy charge brought against her. She well knew how it all happened, and could very easily have cleared herself; but she had just been reading a lecture on humility and self-denial, and heroically resolved to bear the blame sooner than charge Minnette. "Minnette will hate me worse than ever if I tell," she thought; "and I must try and get her to like me. Besides, I deserve punishment, for I felt dreadfully bad and naughty, when she made the girls laugh at me this morning."
So Celeste met the charge only by silence, and sobs, and tears; and Mother Vincent, leading her into the class-room, where all the girls and teachers were assembled, administered a public reproof.
"Had it been any of the other girls," she said, "she would not have felt surprised; but Celeste was such a good girl generally, she was indeed surprised and grieved. It was not for the loss of the statue she cared most—though that could scarcely be replaced—but so glaring an act of disobedience as entering the refectory could not go unpunished. Therefore, Sister Mary Joseph would lead Celeste off and leave her by herself until school was dismissed, as a warning to be more obedient in future."
And Celeste, with her fair face flushed with shame—her bosom heaving with sobs as though her gentle heart would break—was led away to the now unforbidden refectory, and left alone in her deep sorrow. The real culprits sat silent and uneasy, starting guiltily when a low, suppressed sob would now and then reach their ear. But Minnette, with her black eyes blazing with triumph, her cheeks crimson with excitement, sat bold and undaunted, proud and rejoicing in her victory.
That evening one of the girls, unable to endure the stings of conscience, went to the Mother Superior and nobly confessed the whole. The good lady listened amazed, but silent. Celeste was released, brought before her, and confronted with Minnette.
"Why did you tell this falsehood, Minnette?" said the justly indignant lady, turning to her.
"I told no falsehood, madam," she said, boldly, though her cheek glowed like fire, and her falcon eye fell beneath the keen, steady gaze of the other.
"You acted a falsehood, then, which is quite as bad," said Mother Vincent; "and I am pained beyond measure to find so artful and wicked a disposition in one so young. And you, my child," she added, drawing Celeste toward her and caressing her golden head; "why did you suffer this wrong in silence?"
"Because I deserved it, Mother; I didn't like Minnette this morning," she answered, dropping her pale face sadly.