"Hush, my Sister! Compose yourself!" said the Mother Assistant kindly. N. B. * Sister Filomena was about the plainest woman I ever saw, with a moustache, and a perpetual red nose. If the Bishop had not been the Bishop, I should say he had been making game of the poor old soul. "Nobody who knows you can have any doubt of the propriety of your conduct. Come, let these children see you set an example of patience and calmness, and of forgiveness of injuries." * N. B.—nota bene "But that wicked girl—what could have induced her to slander us so!" said another sister. "To say that we used up our revenues in feasting." "And that we—but there is no use in talking!" added Sister Benedict, catching the Mother's eye. "It is too abominable!" At last it came to Amabel's turn and mine; and hand in hand, as usual, we entered the parlor. The Bishop had evidently talked himself into high good humor by this time, for he was laughing and offering his snuff-box to his companions. "Ah! And here are the lambs of the flock!" said he, as we somewhat timidly drew near the grating. "Come near, my little daughters, and fear nothing." He then asked us several questions in a fatherly sort of way, about our families, and we told him all we knew, which was not much. "And how do you use your time? Come, now," addressing himself to me, "think, and tell me exactly what you were doing, when you were called to the Superior on this occasion." "I was brushing St. Francis' hair, Mon seignor," I answered simply. "Brushing St. Francis' hair? What does the child mean; one has heard of dressing St. Catherine's hair, but never of St. Francis', as I think." * * "Dressing St. Catherine's hair" is a kind of proverbial expression for being an old maid. I explained, that I was assisting Sister Sacristine to prepare the Church for to-morrow's feast day. "Ah! Very well, very good—and you, my child?" turning to Amabel! "I was arranging the flowers on the altar of our Lady, Mon seignor." "Very good again—there, you may go, and here are some comfits for you, but I daresay you have enough of them since the good sisters make such beautiful sweetmeats, eh!" "No! Mon seignor, the Mother Bursar sells all the sweetmeats, that she may help the poor women of the village," answered Amabel. Whereas there was another interchange of looks, and we were permitted to retire, not at all sorry to get off so easily. The Bishop and his attendant priests were then conducted by the Superior and Mother Assistant, through the whole building. It was even proposed that he should descend and examine the vaults; but this was hastily and decidedly declined, by his Grandeur. "No! no! That is not needful—we have heard that they are very extensive and curious, however—perhaps Father Andre and his companions would like to inspect them."