"I am compelled to this deception! Is it a sin? If so, God forgive me!
But no--it cannot be! 'Tis justified by my wrongs--my sufferings!"
Another and longer pause, during which she seems profoundly to reflect.
After it--saying:
"I shall do so--pretend compliance. And begin this day--this very hour,
if the opportunity arise. What should be my first pretence? I must
think of it; practice, rehearse it. Let me see. Ah! I have it. The
world has forsaken, forgotten me. Why then should I cling to it!
Instead, why not in angry spite fling it off--as it has me. That's the
way!"
A creaking at the cloister door tells of its key turning in the lock.
Slight as is the sound, it acts on her as an electric shock, suddenly
and altogether changing the cast of her countenance. The instant before
half angry, half sad, it is now a picture of pious resignation! Her
attitude different also. From striding tragically over the floor she
has taken a seat, with a book in her hand, which she seems industriously
perusing. It is that "Aid to Faith" recommended, but hitherto unread.
She is to all appearance so absorbed in its pages as not to notice the
opening of the door, nor the footsteps of one entering. How natural her
start, as she hears a voice, and looking up beholds Soeur Ursule!
"Ah!" ejaculates the latter, with an exultant air, as of a spider that
sees a fly upon the edge of its web, "Glad, Marie, to find you so
employed! It promises well, both for the peace of your mind and the
good of your soul. You've been foolishly lamenting the world left
behind: wickedly too. What is to compare with that to come? As
dross-dirt, to gold or diamonds! The book you hold in your hand will
tell you so. Doesn't it?"
"It does, indeed."
"Then profit by its instructions; and be sorry you have not sooner taken
counsel from it."
"I am sorry, sister Ursule."
"It would have comforted you--will now."
"It has already. Ah! so much! I would not have believed any book could
give me the view of life it has done. I begin to understand what you've
been telling me--to see the vanities of this earthly existence, how poor
and empty they are in comparison with the bright joys of that other
life. Oh! why did I not know it before?"
At this moment a singular tableau is exhibited within that Convent
cell--two female figures, one seated, the other standing--novice and
nun; the former fair and young, the latter ugly as old. And still in
greater contrast, the expression upon their faces. That of the girl's
downcast, demure, lids over the eyes less as if in innocence than
repentant of some sin, while the glances of the woman show pleased
surprise, struggling against incredulity!
Her suspicion still in the ascendant, Soeur Ursule stands regarding the
disciple, so suddenly converted, with a look which seems to penetrate
her very soul. It is borne without sign of quailing, and she at length
comes to believe the penitence sincere, and that her proselytising
powers have not been exerted in vain. Nor is it strange she should so
deceive herself. It is far from being the first novice _contre coeur_
she has broken upon the wheel of despair and made content to taking a
vow of life-long seclusion from the world.
Convinced she has subdued the proud spirit of the English girl, and
gloating over a conquest she knows will bring substantial reward to
herself, she exclaims prayerfully, in mock pious tone:
"Blessed be Holy Mary for this new mercy! On your knees _ma fille_, and
pray to her to complete the work she has begun!"
And upon her knees drops the novice, while the nun as if deeming herself
_de trop_ in the presence of prayer, slips out of the cloister, silently
shutting the door.
Volume Three, Chapter XXII.