The weather was too warm for the funeral to be delayed, and the Bishop himself came to celebrate it on the third day. I never saw a man so changed in so short a time; all his patronizing pompous fussiness was gone; his face was pale and sunken, and he looked in every way like a man who was not long for this world. I caught myself wondering whether he and dear Mother would not have served God just as well if they had married, and brought up a family, as Mrs. Thorpe had told us many English bishops did; but I put away the thought as blasphemous, and said several extra Hail Mary, by way of penance. It did not occur to me, to think that it was not very complimentary to her, to make an address to her an instrument for punishing myself. The dear lady was laid in the cemetery, amidst the dust of those who had gone before her for hundreds of years. The next day, the sisters held an election and, as every one expected, Mother Prudentia was made Superior. I am sure a better choice could not have been made on the whole, though I do not believe she would ever rule the household as the late mother had done. She herself shrank from the responsibility, and earnestly wished that Sister Filomena might be chosen; but "ask nothing, refuse nothing," is the rule in convents (at least it was in ours) and she could not decline. It was on the evening of this day, that Amabel and I were very busily at work. Mrs. Thorpe was in the still-room with Sister Agnes, learning and imparting wonderful secrets concerning the making of Hungary and Elder flower waters, and I know not what else. She was improving rapidly in the matter of French, for she would speak it right or wrong, laughing at her own blunders, when Sister Agnes was too polite to do so. With the other sisters she had little or no intercourse except by bows and smiles; I think they looked upon her as some half-tamed animal, allowed to run at large, but not exactly safe after all. Father Brousseau had once or twice tried to draw her into an argument, but without success. At least, he asked her the favorite question, which is considered a knock down by Roman Catholics. "Where was the Protestant church two hundred years ago?" "Will your Reverence allow me to ask you a question in my turn?" asked Mrs. Thorpe quietly, but with a smile lurking in her eyes. "Certainly!" answered the father. "Suppose then, that one of your flock—a simple unlearned woman like myself—should be thrown in with a very learned and eloquent Protestant clergyman, who should strive to draw her into an argument—what would you advise her to do?" The good priest smiled in spite of himself. "But suppose I had the best of the argument, would not that convince you?" he asked. "It would convince me that your Reverence was much more skillful in argument than myself," was the answer; "and I am quite ready to admit that, now." "But since you do admit that I am more learned than yourself, ought not that to make my arguments of weight to you?"