Ah, what an adorable woman she was, and how I love to recall her to my memory! I adored her as a little child adores the being who has entirely won its heart, without knowing, without reasoning, without even being aware that it was so, but I was simply under the spell of an infinite fascination. Since then, though, I have understood and admired her, realizing how unique and radiant a soul was imprisoned under the thick-set exterior and happy face of that holy woman, I have loved her for all that she awakened within me of nobleness. I love her for the letters which she wrote to me, letters that I often read over and over again. I love her, also, because imperfect as I am, it seems to me that I should have been one hundred times more so, had I not known and loved that pure creature. Once only did I see her severe and feel that she was suddenly angry. In the little room used as a parlor, leading into her cell, there was a portrait of a young man, whose handsome face was stamped with a certain nobility. “Is that the Emperor?” I asked her. “No,” she answered, turning quickly toward me, “it is the King, it is Henri V.” It was only later on that I understood the meaning of her emotion. All the convent was royalist, and Henri V. was their recognized sovereign. They all had the most utter contempt for Napoleon III., and on the day when the Prince Imperial was baptized there was no distribution of bonbons for us, and we were not allowed the holiday that was accorded to all the colleges, boarding schools, and convents. Politics were a dead letter to me and I was happy at the convent, thanks to Mother Ste. Sophie. Then, too, I was a favorite with my schoolfellows, who frequently did my compositions for me. I did not care for any studies except geography and drawing. Arithmetic drove me wild, spelling plagued my life out, and I thoroughly despised the piano. I was very timid and quite lost my head when questioned unexpectedly.