As soon as I was sufficiently recovered to leave my room,
I was taken to the chapel to be confirmed. Before they
came for me, the abbess told me what questions would be
asked, and the answers I should be required to give. She
said they would ask me if I wished to see my father; if
I should like to go back to the world, etc. To these and
similar questions she said I must give a negative answer.
"But," said I, "that will be a falsehood, and I will not
say so for any of them." "Hush, hush, child!" she exclaimed,
with a frightened look. "You must not talk so. From my
heart I pity you; but it will be better for you to answer
as I tell you, for if you refuse they will punish you
till you do. Remember," she added, emphatically, "remember
what I say: it will be better for you to do as I tell
you." And she made me promise that I would. "But why do
they wish me to tell a lie?" I asked. "They do not wish
you to tell a lie," she replied; "they wish you to do
right, and feel right; to be contented and willing to
forget the world." "But I do not wish to forget the
world," I said. "I am not contented, and saying that I
am will not make me feel so. Is it right to tell a lie?"
"It is right for you to obey," she replied, with more
severity in her tone than I ever heard before. "Do you
know," she continued," that it is a great sin for you to
talk so?" "A sin!" I exclaimed, in astonishment; "why is
it a sin?" "Because," she replied, "you have no right to
inquire why a command is given. Whatever the church
commands, we must obey, and that, too, without question
or complaint. If we are not willing to do this, it is
the duty of the Bishop and the priests to punish us until