The Mother Superior bowed and waited. Although shut up in seclusion she knew the world, and was a shrewd judge of its people.
“Her father is dead,” said the other, in a careless voice and crossed herself. “And I am about to marry a very dear friend, Count —, but perhaps I had better leave the name unsaid.
“He has known me for many years, and at last I have agreed to yield to his appeal.” She shook out a fold of her cloak, and looked at the other.
A grim look came to the eyes of the Mother Superior, seldom seen there, as she said. “And so the little one is to be left in our care? And is she to remain in our charge during the holidays? It is far to go to Italy.”
“Yes, it would be better. You see Marco does not care for her to be at home, when we are first married, and I—well, it reminds me of advancing years,” and she gave a hard laugh.
“I understand,” said the Mother Superior, then “poor child. She has been confirmed?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I have the certificate here,” and she opened her bag.
“And her birth certificate? That may be necessary for examinations.”
“No, I am afraid I have not got that. I lost it—I did not think it would be necessary.” She hesitated.
“I think I understand,” said the other looking straight at her.