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Updated: June 5, 2025
The child looked quite delicious in her frock of rose silk decked with white lace, and her large hat trimmed with some of the dress material. Her gay round face showed with flowery delicacy under the rose silk. "Oh, what a love!" exclaimed Seraphine by way of pleasing the parents. "Somebody will be stealing her from me, you know."
You need not say 'yea, nor 'nay, but I incline to think with the Reverend Mother, that the woman you sought was not foolish little Seraphine, turned one way by the neighing of a palfrey, another by the embroidering of a pomegranate. There are women of finer mould in that Nunnery, any one of whom may be your lost betrothed.
"However she appears faithfully to have laid before Sister Mary Seraphine, my view of the matter, giving her to understand that I am inclined to be lenient concerning vows made under misapprehension; also that, when there is not a true vocation, and a worldly spirit chafes against the cloistered life, I regard its presence within the Community as more likely to be harmful to the common weal, than the short-lived scandal which might arise if those in power should connive at an escape."
"Well, my daughter, matters being as they are, you may inform Sister Mary Seraphine that, should she chance to lose her way among the hundred and forty-two columns, when passing through the crypt after Vespers, she will find a Knight, who will doubtless know what to do next.
"If I had not left the world." The Prioress considered this. "If your heart was set upon wedding your cousin, my child, why did you profess a vocation and, renouncing all worldly and carnal desires, gain admission to our sacred Order?" "My heart was not set on marrying my cousin!" cried Sister Seraphine, with petulance. "I was weary of Wilfred. I was weary of everything! I wanted to profess.
"I could never be merry again, Mr Lorton," she said, with a prodigious sigh, which seemed to come from the depths of her heart, "since poor dear papa died;" and she then passed on mournfully homewards, with Bessie and Seraphine in her wake. Their cheerful faces, as they nodded back and smiled at Horner and myself, contrasted strongly with their mother's lugubrious visage.
"First, the shop of Seraphine Alexandre, embroideries; then of Scipion Beloiseau, ornamental ironwork, opposite Mme. Seraphine and next below Ducatel Ducatel, alas, he don't count; and third, of Placide La Porte, perfumeries, next to Beloiseau. That's all." "Not the watchmaker on the square above?"
"Kneel!" commanded the Prioress, with authority. The wayward nun jerked down upon her knees, upsetting the stool behind her. The Prioress made a quick movement, then restrained herself. She had prayed for patience in dealing with wilfulness. "We die that we may live," she said, solemnly. "Sister Seraphine, this is the lesson your wayward heart must learn. Dying to self, we live unto God.
When at length she looked up, Sister Seraphine, clothed and apparently in her right mind, stood humbly near the door. The Prioress closed the book, and shut the heavy clasps. Then she pointed to an oaken stool, signing to the nun to draw it forward. "Be seated, my child," she said, in tones of infinite tenderness.
Madame Rousillon. Madame Champigny. Monsieur Pipon. Mademoiselle La Rose. L'Abbe Durand. Monsieur Halboir. La Soeur Angelique. La Soeur Seraphine. I know not why it was, but the last three names held my eyes. Each of the other names I knew, and their owners also. When I looked close, I saw that where "La Soeur Angelique" now was another name had been written and then erased.
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