Florine made a movement of sorrowful surprise, and exclaimed: 'Me, mother! but—'
'I asked her in your name, and you have only to accept,' answered the other imperiously.
'But, mother, I had entreated you—'
'I tell you, that you accept the offer,' said the superior, in so firm and positive a tone that Florine cast down her eyes, and replied in a low voice: 'I accept.'
'It is in M. Rodin's name that I give you this order.'
'I thought so, mother,' replied Florine, sadly; 'on what conditions am I to serve the princess?'
'On the same conditions as those on which you served her niece.'
Florine shuddered and said: 'I am, then, to make frequent secret reports with regard to the princess?'
'You will observe, you will remember, and you will give an account.'
'Yes, my mother.'
'You will above all direct your attention to the visits that the princess may receive from the lady superior of the Sacred Heart. You must try and listen—for we have to preserve the princess from evil influences.'
'I will obey, my mother.'
'You will also try and discover why two young orphans have been brought hither, and recommended to be severely treated, by Madame Grivois, the confidential waiting-woman of the princess.'
'Yes, mother.'
'Which must not prevent you from remembering anything else that may be worthy of remark. To-morrow I will give you particular instructions upon another subject.'
'It is well, mother.'
'If you conduct yourself in a satisfactory manner, and execute faithfully the instructions of which I speak, you will soon leave the princess to enter the service of a young bride; it will be an excellent and lasting situation always on the same conditions. It is, therefore, perfectly understood that you have asked me to recommend you to Madame de Saint Dizier.'
'Yes, mother; I shall remember.'
'Who is this deformed young girl that accompanies you?'
'A poor creature without any resources, very intelligent, and with an education above her class; she works at her needle, but is at present without employment, and reduced to the last extremity. I have made inquiries about her this morning; she has an excellent character.'
'She is ugly and deformed, you say?'
'She has an interesting countenance, but she is deformed.'
The superior appeared pleased at this information, and added, after a moment's reflection: 'She appears intelligent?'
'Very intelligent.'
'And is absolutely without resources?'
'Yes, without any.'
'Is she pious?'
'She does not practice.'
'No matter,' said the superior to herself; 'if she be intelligent, that will suffice.' Then she resumed aloud. 'Do you know if she is a good workwoman?'
'I believe so, mother.'
The superior rose, took a register from a shelf, appeared to be looking into it attentively for some time, and then said, as she replaced it: 'Fetch in this young girl, and go and wait for me in the press-room.'
'Deformed—intelligent—clever at her needle,' said the superior, reflecting; 'she will excite no suspicion. We must see.'
In about a minute, Florine returned with Mother Bunch, whom she introduced to the superior, and then discreetly withdrew. The young sempstress was agitated, trembling, and much troubled, for she could, as it were, hardly believe a discovery which she had chanced to make during Florine's absence. It was not without a vague sense of terror that the hunchback remained alone with the lady superior.
CHAPTER VII. THE TEMPTATION.
This was the cause of Mother Bunch's emotion. Florine, when she went to see the superior, had left the young sempstress in a passage supplied with benches, and forming a sort of ante-chamber on the first story. Being alone, the girl had mechanically approached a window which looked upon the convent garden, shut in by a half demolished wall, and terminating at one end in an open paling. This wall was connected with a chapel that was still building, and bordered on the garden of a neighboring house. The sewing-girl, at one of the windows on the ground floor of this house—a grated window, still more remarkable by the sort of tent-like awning above it—beheld a young female, with her eyes fixed upon the convent, making signs with her hand, at once encouraging and affectionate. From the window where she stood, Mother Bunch could not see to whom these signs were addressed; but she admired the rare beauty of the telegrapher, the brilliancy of her complexion, the shining blackness of her large eyes, the sweet and benevolent smile which lingered on her lips. There was, no doubt, some answer to her graceful and expressive pantomime, for, by a movement full of elegance, the girl laid her left hand on her bosom, and waved her right, which seemed to indicate that her heart flew towards the place on which she kept her eyes. One faint sunbeam, piercing the clouds, came at this moment to play with the tresses of the pale countenance, which, now held close to the bars of the window, was suddenly, as it were, illuminated by the dazzling reflection of her splendid golden hair. At sight of that charming face, set in its admirable frame of red curls, Mother Bunch started involuntarily; the thought of Mdlle. de Cardoville crossed her mind, and she felt persuaded (nor was she, indeed, mistaken), that the protectress of Agricola was before her. On thus beholding, in that gloomy asylum, this young lady, so marvellously beautiful, and remembering the delicate kindness with which a few days before she had received Agricola in her luxurious little palace of dazzling splendor, the work-girl felt her heart sink within her. She believed Adrienne insane; and yet, as she looked attentively at her, it seemed as if intelligence and grace animated that adorable countenance. Suddenly, Mdlle. de Cardoville laid her fingers upon her lips, blew a couple of kisses in the direction towards which she had been looking, and all at once disappeared. Reflecting upon the important revelations which Agricola had to make to Mdlle. de Cardoville, Mother Bunch regretted bitterly that she had no means of approaching her; for she felt sure that, if the young lady were mad, the present was a lucid interval. She was yet absorbed in these uneasy reflections, when she saw Florine return, accompanied by one of the nuns. Mother Bunch was obliged, therefore, to keep silence with regard to the discovery she had made, and soon after she found herself in the superior's presence. This latter, after a rapid and searching examination of the countenance of the young workwoman, judged her appearance so timid, gentle and honest, that she thought she might repose full confidence in the information given by Florine.
'My dear daughter,' said Mother Sainte-Perpetue, in an affectionate voice, 'Florine has told me in what a cruel situation you are placed. Is it true that you are entirely without work?'
'Alas! yes, madame.'
'Call me mother, my dear daughter; that name is dearer to me, and it is the rule of our house. I need not ask you what are your principles?'
'I have always lived honestly by my labor, mother,' answered the girl, with a simplicity at once dignified and modest.
'I believe you, my dear daughter, and I have good reasons for so doing. We must thank the Lord, who has delivered you from temptation; but tell me—are you clever at your trade?'
'I do my best, mother, and have always satisfied my employers. If you please to try me, you will be able to judge.'
'Your affirmation is sufficient, my dear daughter. You prefer, I think, to go out by the day?'
'Mdlle. Florine told me, mother, that I could not have work at home.'
'Why, no—not for the present, my child. If hereafter an opportunity should offer, I will think of it. Just now I have this to propose to you. A very respectable old lady has asked me to recommend to her a needle-woman by the day; introduced by me, you will certainly suit her. The institution will undertake to clothe you becomingly, and this advance we shall retain by degrees out of your wages, for you will look to us for payment. We propose to give you two francs a day; does that appear to you sufficient?'
'Oh, mother! it is much more than I could have expected.'
