daughter. 'It will be for next time, Madame,' she would say, and smile,
yet put her apron to her eyes. There were many who were like her, and
there were those of whom I have spoken who were _pleureuses_, never
hoping anything, doing little, bewailing themselves and their hard fate.
Some of them we employed to carry the provisions to Semur, and this
amused them, though the heaviness of the baskets made again a complaint.

As for the children, thank God! they were not disturbed as we were--to
them it was a beautiful holiday--it was like Heaven. There is no place
on earth that I love like Semur, yet it is true that the streets are
narrow, and there is not much room for the children. Here they were
happy as the day; they strayed over all our gardens and the meadows,
which were full of flowers; they sat in companies upon the green grass,
as thick as the daisies themselves, which they loved. Old Sister
Mariette, who is called Marie de la Consolation, sat out in the meadow
under an acacia-tree and watched over them. She was the one among us who
was happy. She had no son, no husband, among the watchers, and though,
no doubt, she loved her convent and her hospital, yet she sat all day
long in the shade and in the full air, and smiled, and never looked
towards Semur. 'The good Lord will do as He wills,' she said, 'and that
will be well.' It was true--we all knew it was true; but it might
be--who could tell?--that it was His will to destroy our town, and take
away our bread, and perhaps the lives of those who were dear to us; and
something came in our throats which prevented a reply. '_Ma soeur_,' I
said, 'we are of the world, we tremble for those we love; we are not as
you are.' Sister Mariette did nothing but smile upon us. 'I have known
my Lord these sixty years,' she said, 'and He has taken everything from
me.' To see her smile as she said this was more than I could bear. From
me He had taken something, but not all. Must we be prepared to give up
all if we would be perfected? There were many of the others also who