But when evening was come, and the children were all abed, except two or three of the elder ones, to whom Anne was diligently reading a new book which my Lady brought down to us, then I began to think of what my Lady had said that morning. I had plenty of time, and my eyes are very good, so that I really hardly need glasses at all, except to do fine darning and the like. I have had an uncommonly good education (though I say it that shouldn't, perhaps), and I have passed, with my dear Lady, through many strange chances and changes in this mortal life. Why should I not write all these things down for the benefit of my Lady's children? And so it has come to pass that I have really taken pen in hand and begun this memoir, if it deserves so grand a name. My first clear recollections are of the convent in Provence, where I was bred with Mrs. Amabel Leighton till I was about sixteen years old. The convent had once been a very wealthy establishment; and I have heard that, in the early days of Louis Fourteenth, the abbess used to entertain company in princely style, with more of magnificence and luxury than any of the gentry round about, and, in fact, with more than at all befitted a religious house. But there was nothing of that sort done in my day. The means were wanting, even if our good mother had cherished any such desires. I am sure she did not, though, doubtless, she would have liked to have new hangings for the church, to repair the cloisters, and make the refectory at least weather-proof, and perhaps to mend our cheer a little on feast days. But the resources were hardly large enough at that time to furnish us with food and clothes, and so all these things remained undone. However, the elders of the house consoled themselves with the thought that they suffered for righteousness' sake, and were laying up merit thereby, and the young ones were happy in their youth; so we were a very cheerful household, after all. Our foundation was one of those numerous offshoots from one of the great orders, which, under different names, are found all over Europe, and, as I said, had at one time enjoyed a princely revenue, of which the best use had not always been made. The convent was, in some way which I do not understand, a kind of dependency of the neighboring noble family of Crequi, and was a very convenient place wherein to bestow unmarried and portionless sisters, plain daughters, or those to whom it was not convenient to give large dowries, and other inconvenient female relations. The abbess—such was her rank—had her carriage and the ladies their servants, and they were by no means particular about keeping their enclosure, as it is called, but visited and were visited themselves as long and as often as they pleased. I heard all the story many a time from Mother Prudentia, who had learned it, in her turn, from a very old nun, who well remembered those days.