ound her in the garden, listlessly watching the
hues of a bright lizard, as it lay panting in the sun. The abbess put
her arm round her waist, while stooping to look.

"How it glitters!" said she. "It is a pretty piece of God's handiwork:
but we must leave it now, my dear. This sun is too hot for you. Your
chamber, or sister Claire's room, is the fittest place for you at this
hour. You find your chamber cool?"

"Yes, madam."

"The new ventilator works well?"

"Yes, madam."

"You find--this way, my dear--this alley is the most shady--you find
your little bed comfortable?"

"Yes, madam."

"And your toilet-cover--sister Marie's work--is, I think, extremely
pretty: and the book-shelf that Father Gabriel gave you very convenient.
Your friends here, my dear, are fond of you. They are anxious to make
you happy."

"They are all very kind to me, madam."

"I am glad you are sensible of it. You are not of an ungrateful nature,
we all know."

"I hope not: but, madam, I cannot stay here always."

"I was going to say, my dear, that we have not done everything in our
power for you yet. We must not forget that we grave women must be dull
companions for a girl like you."

"It is not that, reverend mother. But I cannot stay here always."

"You will find it a very different thing when you have a companion of
your own age, which I hope will be the case very soon. There is a
negotiation on foot respecting a sweet girl, every way worthy of being
your companion--"

"But, madam, I do not want that--I do not wish for any companion while I
am here. I had much rather be alone; but--"

"But you would like to leave us--eh? You would like to be on a
plantation, where you could amuse yourself with playing with the little
negroes, and driving about the country, and visiting your neighbours two
or three times a week?"

Euphrosyne smiled, and plucked a twig to play with.

"You would like," continued the abbess, "to live with accomplished
people--to have a fine library, to lie on a couch and read during the
hot hours; and to sing gay songs in the piazza in the evening."

Euphrosyne smiled again.

"You would like," the abbess went on, "to dance, night after night, and
to make pic-nic parties to the cacao walks, and to the shore. You would
like to win over your guardian to let you have your own way in
everything: and, to be sure, in comparison with his house, our
convent--"

"My guardian!" exclaimed Euphrosyne. "Li