ar Fontainebleau."

Saying this, his face wore a sad look, and I was sorry that I asked him
for anything. He is fond of giving, and of giving generously, but of his
own accord, without the least prompting. Had I refrained from committing
this indiscretion, he might, possibly, have made me a duchess there and
then, renaming Petit-Bourg Royal-Bourg.

The new abbess of Fontevrault, caring less now for claustral seclusion,
equipped her new residence in very sumptuous style. In a splendid
carriage she came to thank the King and kiss hands. With much tact and
dignity she encountered the scrutiny of the royal family and of the
Court. Her manners showed her to have been a person brought up in the
great world, and possessed of all the tact and delicacy which her
position as well as mine required.

As she embraced me, she sighed; yet, instantly recovering herself, she
made the excuse that so many ceremonious greetings and compliments had
fatigued her.

It was not long before the King joined us, who said, "Madame, I never
thought that there was much amusement to be got by wearing the veil. Now,
you must admit that days in a convent seem very long to any one who has
wit and intelligence."

"Sire," replied my sister, "the first fifteen or twenty months are
wearisome, I readily confess. Then comes discouragement; after that,
habit; and then one grows resigned to one's fetters from the mere
pleasure of existence."

"Did you meet with any good friends among your associates?"

"In such assemblies," rejoined the Abbess, "one can form no attachment or
durable friendship. The reason for this is simple. If the companion you
choose is religious in all sincerity, she is perforce a slave to every
little rule and regulation, and to her it would seem like defrauding the
Deity to give affection to any one but to Him. If, by mischance, you
meet with some one of sensitive temperament, with a bright intellect that
matches your own, you lay yourself open to be the mournful sharer of her
griefs, doubts, and regrets, and her depression reacts upon you; her
sorrow makes your melancholy return. Privation conjures up countless
illusions and every chimera imaginable, so that the peaceful retreat of
virgins of the Lord becomes a veritable hell, peopled by phantoms that
groan in torture!"

"Oh, madame!" exclaimed the King. "What a picture is this! What a
spectacle you present to our view!"

"Fortunately," continued Mademoiselle de Mort