A far away look came into her eyes, and a sigh escaped her.
Carlotta did not see it; she rose and stamped her little foot. “I shall never marry,” she cried with passion “Never! Never!”
“Hush, my child, you must not speak like that,” but she folded her in her arms.
Of her mother Carlotta never spoke, and the promised letters never came. The fees were paid regularly for a year, but there was no mention of a visit from her mother, and then came silence, and when a letter was sent to her address, it was returned, undelivered. The Mother Superior sent for Ursula, and showed it to her without comment.
“But you will not send her away?” she cried in alarm.
The other was grave, but she smiled as she said. “I expected this, the so-called Count has got tired of her. We shall hear no more of them, but this sweet child, no, she shall remain with us. She must not be told. Mother Church does not cast out her children.”
And so another year passed, and the promise of the bud was revealed in the flower. Carlotta ripened early as southerners do, and at sixteen would have lured St. Anthony from his devotions. Black curls fell round her sweet face, and the great, dark, innocent eyes, wondrous as the mirror of the sea, in their changeful emotions, looked out on the world fearless yet timid, dreaming of what lay in the glory of the future.
Her figure was straight and supple, like one of the flowers in the garden she loved so passionately.
Ursula was anxious. The child had fits of silence, when she would get away from the others, and sit motionless in the garden.
With the other girls she was a favourite, for though she did not excel either at work or games, she was always kind and gentle, and took keen delight in the success of others.