Part 17 (1/2)
Father Sebastien laughed, in his low, gurgling way, and rubbed his hands some more, still eying Fouchette.
”She's been a good girl for five years, you say?”
”Yes, Father; we could not complain.”
”Five years is a very long time to--to--for a girl like her to be good. Is it not so?”
”Truly.”
”And yet they say her language was dreadfully--er--ah--improper.”
”If you were pulled out of bed in the night and beaten because you spoke the truth to the Superieure,” broke in Fouchette at this point, ”you'd probably use bad language too!”
”Chut! child,” said the Superieure, smiling in spite of herself.
”Oh! me?”
”La, la! Father.” The Superieure now laughed.
”Quite possibly,” he added,--”quite possibly. But in a demoiselle like you----”
”I'm afraid to send her back to the dormitory. Are you afraid to go back there, Fouchette?”
”No, madame,” replied Fouchette.
”I think they'll leave her alone after this,” said the priest.
”They'd better,” said Fouchette.
”Oho!”
”But you must not quarrel, my dear,--remember that. And if they--well, you come to me or to Sister----”
”Sister Agnes, yes----”
”No, no; Sister Angelique,” interrupted the Superieure, tartly.
”Sister Agnes has nothing to do with you hereafter.”
”Wh-at? But Sister Agnes----”
”Now don't stand there and argue. I repeat that Sister Agnes is to have nothing to do with you hereafter. Sister Agnes has gone----”
”Gone!”
It was the worst blow--the only blow she had received in these five years. Her swollen lips quivered.
”I say Sister Agnes has gone. You will never see her again. And it's a good riddance! I never could bear that woman!”
”Oh, madame! madame!”
Fouchette sank to her knees appealingly.