MY dear mother, quoth the novice, coming a little to herself,—there are
two certain words, which I have been told will force any horse, or ass,
or mule, to go up a hill whether he will or no; be he never so
obstinate or ill-will’d, the moment he hears them utter’d, he obeys.
They are words magic! cried the abbess in the utmost horror—No; replied
_Margarita_ calmly—but they are words sinful—What are they? quoth the
abbess, interrupting her: They are sinful in the first degree, answered
_Margarita_,—they are mortal—and if we are ravished and die unabsolved
of them, we shall both——but you may pronounce them to me, quoth the
abbess of _Andoüillets_——They cannot, my dear mother, said the novice,
be pronounced at all; they will make all the blood in one’s body fly up
into one’s face—But you may whisper them in my ear, quoth the abbess.
Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at the
bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit
unemployed——no agent in nature, by some monitory shivering, creeping
along the artery which led to his heart, to rouse the muleteer from his
banquet?——no sweet minstrelsy to bring back the fair idea of the abbess
and _Margarita_, with their black rosaries!
Rouse! rouse!——but ’tis too late—the horrid words are pronounced this
moment——
——and how to tell them—Ye, who can speak of every thing existing, with
unpolluted lips—instruct me——guide me——