The History of the Lady Betty Stair

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Ten thousand men presented arms to this brave woman; the officers, led by General de Bourmont, saluted with their swords; the multitude burst into thunders of cheers; the bands rang out a patriotic air; and Sister Claire stood with downcast head and tears dropping upon the coarse habit she wore. After a moment she looked up into De Bourmont’s eyes. Each understood the other. The love of the young soldier and the Lady Betty Stair had lasted through more than thirty years, and in that time it had become so purified and ennobled that it was not unworthy of the angels themselves. In De Bourmont’s face might yet be seen a haunting disappointment; but in his heart he could not, as a lover of his fellow-man, believe that Sister Claire’s life might have been happier.

Late that afternoon, Sister Claire, who had been busy writing in her cell at the gray old convent, went into the garden to look for the superior. The garden, with its olive groves and clumps of fig-trees, was very cool and sweet after the heat of the day. The superior and two or three of the sisters were walking up and down a shaded alley; they were still talking about the glories of that day for one of their order.

“I came to show you, mother, a letter I have written to General de Bourmont,” said Sister Claire. “We knew each other in our youth, and it was thought at one time that he was responsible for the death of my only brother. Afterward it was proved that he was not, and I took pains to have him informed of it. Here is the letter I have written him”:—

General de Bourmont:—I desire to express to his Majesty, and to yourself personally, my heartfelt thanks for the very great honor conferred upon me. I only did my duty, as many others have done, and I felt rewarded in the thought that I did it for God and my fellow-creatures; but this other reward is not the less dear to me. For yourself, General de Bourmont, accept my thanks and good wishes. I have always remembered your goodness to me, of many years ago, and I shall continue to do so and to pray for you to the last hour of my life.

Sister Claire.

“A very proper letter,” said the mother superior, who was full of pride in the great doings of the day; “and I will send it off immediately.”

Two hours afterward, when the sisters had had their supper in the refectory, they were assembled again in the garden. The sun was gone down, but a beautiful rosy haze lay over the landscape, and a young moon trembled in the violet sky. One of the lay sisters came running into the garden with a letter.

“It is for Sister Claire; and General de Bourmont himself brought it,” she cried.

The sisters all gathered around. It was only a fitting winding up of the glories of the day for Sister Claire to get a letter from the general himself, delivered in person. There was still enough of the pale and lingering light to read by, and Sister Claire read her letter aloud in a clear, sweet voice:

General de Bourmont presents his respectful compliments to Sister Claire, and has the honor of informing her that her thanks will be personally conveyed by him to his Majesty. The noble career of Sister Claire has been watched by the whole French army, and she will become, more than ever, an object of respectful devotion to the soldiers of France, of all ranks. It was unknown to General de Bourmont, though, that in Sister Claire was his friend of former days. He remembers with gratitude Sister Claire’s kindness to him at the long distant period to which she refers; and he begs that she will always consider him her friend and devoted servant during the rest of his life.