“And the object of Héloise's faithful love!” replied the nun with tender sympathy. “Oh! how could Le Gardeur de Repentigny refuse a heart like yours, Héloise, for the sake of that wild daughter of levity, Angélique des Meloises?
“But come, I will conduct you to the venerable Lady Superior, who is in the garden conversing with Grand'mère St. Pierre, and your old friend and mistress, Mère Ste. Helène.”
The news of the tragedy in the market-place had been early carried to the Convent by the ubiquitous Bonhomme Michael, who was out that day on one of his multifarious errands in the service of the community.
The news had passed quickly through the Convent, agitating the usually quiet nuns, and causing the wildest commotion among the classes of girls, who were assembled at their morning lessons in the great schoolroom. The windows were clustered with young, comely heads, looking out in every direction, while nuns in alarm streamed from the long passages to the lawn, where sat the venerable Superior, Mère Migeon de la Nativité, under a broad ash-tree, sacred to the Convent by the memories that clustered around it. The Ste. Therèse of Canada, Mère Marie de l'Incarnation, for lack of a better roof, in the first days of her mission, used to gather around her under that tree the wild Hurons as well as the young children of the colonists, to give them their first lessons in religion and letters.
Mère Esther held up her finger warningly to the nuns not to speak, as she passed onward through the long corridors, dim with narrow lights and guarded by images of saints, until she came into an open square flagged with stones. In the walls of this court a door opened upon the garden into which a few steps downwards conducted them.
The garden of the monastery was spacious and kept with great care. The walks meandered around beds of flowers, and under the boughs of apple-trees, and by espaliers of ancient pears and plums.
The fruit had long been gathered in, and only a few yellow leaves hung upon the autumnal trees, but the grass was still green on the lawn where stood the great ash-tree of Mère Marie de l'Incarnation. The last hardy flowers of autumn lingered in this sheltered spot.
In these secluded alleys the quiet recluses usually walked and meditated in peace, for here man's disturbing voice was never heard.
But to-day a cluster of agitated nuns gathered around the great ash-tree, and here and there stood groups of black and white veils; some were talking, while others knelt silently before the guardian of the house, the image of St. Joseph, which overlooked this spot, considered particularly sacred to prayer and meditation.
The sight of Mère Esther, followed by the well-known figures of Amélie and Héloise, caused every head to turn with a look of recognition; but the nuns were too well disciplined to express either surprise or curiosity in the presence of Mère Migeon, however much they felt of both. They stood apart at a sign from the Lady Superior, leaving her with a nun attendant on each side to receive Mère Esther and her two companions.