"But there are no Crusades any more for their husbands to go to," I objected. Elizabeth looked at me restively. She did not like this fractious humour. "I mean let their husbands go to war," she said. "But if there are no wars," I began, when Madame Chapelle, who had not been so inattentive as I supposed, intervened. "Elizabeth and Agnes, go back to your alcoves," she said. "You have been quite long enough brushing your teeth." I flirted my last drops of water over Elizabeth, and she returned the favour with interest, having more left in her tumbler than I had. It was our customary good-night. Sometimes, when we were wittily disposed, we said "_Asperges me_." That was one of the traditional jests of the convent. Generations of girls had probably said it before us. Our language was enriched with scraps of Latin and apt quotations, borrowed from Church services, the Penitential Psalms, and the catechism. For two days Elizabeth studied the address, and for two days more she rehearsed it continuously under Madame Rayburn's tutelage. At intervals she recited portions of it to us, and we favoured her with our candid criticisms. Tony objected vehemently to the very first line:-- "A woman's path is ours to humbly tread." She said she didn't intend to tread it humbly at all; that Elizabeth might be as humble as she pleased (Elizabeth promptly disclaimed any personal sympathy with the sentiment), and that Marie and Agnes were welcome to all the humility they could practise (Marie and Agnes rejected their share of the virtue), but that she--Tony--was tired of behaving like an affable worm. To this, Emily, with more courage than courtesy, replied that a worm Tony might be, but an affable worm, never; and Elizabeth headed off any further retort by hurrying on with the address. "A woman's path is ours to humbly tread, And yet to lofty heights our hopes are led. We may not share the Senate's stern debate, Nor guide with faltering hand the helm of state; Ours is the holier right to soften party hate, And teach the lesson, lofty and divine, Ambition's fairest flowers are laid at Virtue's shrine." "Have you any idea what all that means?" asked Marie discontentedly. "Oh, I don't have to say what it means," returned Elizabeth, far too sensible to try to understand anything she would not be called upon to explain. "Reverend Mother makes that out for herself." "Not ours the right to guide the battle's storm, Where strength and valour deathless deeds perform. Not ours to bind the blood-stained laurel wreath In mocking triumph round the brow of death. No! 'tis our lot to save the failing breath, 'Tis ours to heal each wound, and hush each moan, To take from other hearts the pain into our own." "It seems to me," said Tony, "that we are expected to do all the work, and have none of the fun."