"'Yet do not, dear mother,' I exclaimed, 'force me to be a nun—at least, not yet!'
"'Force you, my child!' repeated the venerable woman, 'never! Forced vows cannot be sincere; and sincere indeed ought those to be, which are offered to your God! You yet are young: but two years hence, if I be in existence, I hope to receive you at the altar. I have pointed out the dangers which would attend you, in a world you are a stranger to; you know the peaceful happiness, the security which reign within these walls: let both be the subject of your reflections; and too well am I assured of the sense, the goodness of heart my girl possesses, to doubt her cheerful acquiescence in the lot assigned her."
"Never before had my heart refused accordance to the sentiments or wishes of this my earliest friend; but the fascinating picture, the young Victoire, and Julie de Valois, (for three years my intimate companions) had often painted of the world, had first engaged my attention by its novelty, then taught me to wish for those pleasures, with which I thought it abounded. The world,—however, its gaieties—all were absorbed in the circumstance of my deserted infancy; and I left the worthy Abbess, overwhelmed with the only real sorrow I had ever known.
"Instead of going to my beloved mother, as I had hitherto termed her, I sought the gloomy solitude of the cloister; and was indulging in an unrestrained flow of tears, when the approach of two nuns caused me to retreat into an adjoining chapel. They seated themselves at the entrance, nor could I then have re-passed without discovery; which would have exposed me to a severe reproof from sister Brigide (one of them), for my intrusion into a place, sacred to the sisterhood. They, however, continued their discourse without the slightest suspicion of unhallowed ears, and I soon found sister Françoise was the subject of their conversation.
"'I, who have been an inmate here these six-and-thirty years,' said sister Brigide, 'am less regarded by the superannuated mother St. Claire; I may, however, one day be head of this convent; then woe betide some, whom I shall not name.'
"'How long is it since she took the veil?' asked the other, whom, by her voice I discovered to be a sister lately professed. 'Fourteen years,' answered Brigide: 'just after the Abbess's favourite Louise was left here; and much I mistake, if Françoise be not really her mother!'
"'Her great partiality to the child,' answered sister Marie, 'may certainly justify the suspicion.'
"'Suspicion'—repeated Brigide; 'I have proofs—facts, indubitable ones! I know more of sister Françoise than she thinks.'
"The curiosity of Marie thus raised, induced her to press Brigide to an explanation; whilst I scarcely respired lest a syllable of the important intelligence should escape me.
"'It is now about fifteen years,' said Brigide, 'since sister Françoise, then Mademoiselle de Colline, was a reigning belle; though, for my part, I never could discover the surprising beauty they say she possessed: being, however, the youngest daughter, she was designed for a monastic life; but was by nature more inclined to vows of love than religion. By her artful coquetries she at last fascinated a young Englishman who was on his travels, and who demanded her of her father in marriage. Monsieur de Colline refused him, he being an heretic; and the gallant apparently ceased his addresses; but after a lapse of some time, he was detected one morning by her father, descending from her chamber window. Justly enraged at the depravity of his daughter and the young fellow, Monsieur de Colline seized his pistols, and as the lover was scaling the garden-wall, a brace of bullets brought him to the earth!