Her father confessor, an excellent man, who never even in these
dangerous times shrank from his duty, came to Sister Frances in her last
moments, and relieved her mind from all anxiety, by promising to place
the two little children with the lady who had been abbess of her convent,
who would to the utmost of her power protect and provide for them
suitably. Satisfied by this promise, the good Sister Frances smiled upon
Victoire, who stood beside her bed, and with that smile upon her
countenance expired.--It was some time before the little children seemed
to comprehend, or to believe, that Sister Frances was dead: they had
never before seen any one die; they had no idea what it was to die, and
their first feeling was astonishment; they did not seem to understand why
Victoire wept. But the next day when no Sister Frances spoke to them,
when every hour they missed some accustomed kindness from her,--when
presently they saw the preparations for her funeral,--when they heard
that she was to be buried in the earth, and that they should never see
her more,--they could neither play nor eat, but sat in a corner holding
each other's hands, and watching everything that was done for the dead by
Victoire.
In those times, the funeral of a nun, with a priest attending, would not
have been permitted by the populace. It was therefore performed as
secretly as possible: in the middle of the night the coffin was carried
to the burial-place of the Fleury family; the old steward, his son
Basile, Victoire, and the good father confessor, were the only persons
present.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178