"I cannot tell you. Mother, mother, you see I cannot."
"It is for your soul's weal, my daughter."
"I had tried to serve God, and He had seen my shame. What was left to me but the world, the world, the world! Perhaps the world itself would have more mercy. My kind mother, have I not told you yet?"
The superior made the sign of the cross.
"Ah, my daughter! the enemy of your soul was with you then. You should not have ceased to lift your hands to Heaven in supplication and prayer. You should have prostrated yourself three days and nights in the tribune before the Holy Sacrament."
The penitent raised her pale face.
"In less time I was a lost and abandoned woman."
The superior told a few beads with trembling fingers. Then she lifted the cross that hung from her girdle, and held it out to the sister.
"I thought of my child, and prayed that he might be dead. I thought of him who was not my husband, and my heart grew cold and hard. Mother, my redemption came. Yes, but with it came the meaning of the fearful words, too late. Amid the reeling madness of the life that is mocked with the name of gay, I met a good man. Yes, holy mother, a good man. Mother, he now sleeps there!"
Her pale face, serene and solemn, was lifted again, and the hand that held the crucifix was raised above her head.