"Dear Mother, the gentleman presents his respects to you, and
begs you to pardon him if he cannot pay them himself, but he
knows neither of the languages which you speak----"
The aged nun bent her head slowly, with an expression of angelic
sweetness, enhanced at the same time by the consciousness of her
power and dignity.
"Do you know this gentleman?" she asked, with a keen glance.
"Yes, Mother."
"Go back to your cell, my daughter!" said the Mother imperiously.
The General slipped aside behind the curtain lest the dreadful
tumult within him should appear in his face; even in the shadow
it seemed to him that he could still see the Superior's piercing
eyes. He was afraid of her; she held his little, frail, hardly-won
happiness in her hands; and he, who had never quailed under a
triple row of guns, now trembled before this nun. The Duchess went
towards the door, but she turned back.
"Mother," she said, with dreadful calmness, "the Frenchman is
one of my brothers."
"Then stay, my daughter," said the Superior, after a pause.
The piece of admirable Jesuitry told of such love and regret,
that a man less strongly constituted might have broken down under
the keen delight in the midst of a great and, for him, an
entirely novel peril. Oh! how precious words, looks, and
gestures became when love must baffle lynx eyes and tiger's
claws! Sister Theresa came back.
"You see, my brother, what I have dared to do only to speak to
you for a moment of your salvation and of the prayers that my
soul puts up for your soul daily.
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