It was during one of these excursions that I learned from
the talk of the passers-by, what we were, and what we were called.
Sometimes, in the afternoon, we were visited by elegantly-attired
ladies, who were accompanied by their own children, radiant with health
and happiness. The good sisters told us that these were 'pious ladies,'
or 'charitable ladies,' whom we must love and respect, and whom we must
never forget to mention in our prayers. They always brought us toys and
cakes. Sometimes the establishment was visited by priests and grave old
gentlemen, whose sternness of manner alarmed us. They peered into every
nook and corner, asked questions about everything, assured themselves
that everything was in its place, and some of them even tasted our soup.
They were always satisfied; and the lady superior led them through the
building, and bowed to them, exclaiming: 'We love them so much, the poor
little dears! 'And the gentlemen replied: 'Yes, yes, my dear sister,
they are very fortunate.' And the gentlemen were right. Poor laborers'
children are often obliged to endure privations which we knew nothing
of; they are often obliged to make their supper off a piece of dry
bread--but, then, the crust is given them by their mother, with a kiss."

The magistrate, who was extremely ill at ease, had not yet succeeded in
finding a syllable to offer in reply. Indeed, Mademoiselle Marguerite
had not given him an opportunity to speak, so rapidly had this
long-repressed flood of recollections poured from her lips. When she
spoke the word "mother," the magistrate fancied she would show some sign
of emotion.

But he was mistaken. On the contrary, her voice became harsher, and a
flash of anger, as it were, darted from her eyes.

"I suffered exceedingly in that asylum," she resumed. "Sister Calliste
left the establishment, and all the surroundings chilled and repelled
me. My only few hours of happiness were on Sundays, when we attended
church. As the great organ pealed, and as I watched the priests
officiating at the altar in their gorgeous vestments, I forgot my own
sorrows. It seemed to me that I was ascending on the clouds of incense
to the celestial sphere which the sisters so often talked to us about,
and where they said each little girl would find her mother."

Mademoiselle Marguerite hesitated for an instant, as if she were
somewhat unwilling to give utterance to her thoughts; but at last,
forcing herself to continue, she said: