‘We have gymnastics,’ the Italian sister ventured to remark. ‘But not dangerous.’

‘I hope not. Is that your branch?’ A question which provoked much candid hilarity on the part of the two ladies; on the subsidence of which their entertainer, glancing at his daughter, remarked that she had grown.

‘Yes, but I think she has finished. She’ll remain—not big,’ said the French sister.

‘I’m not sorry. I prefer women like books—very good and not too long. But I know,’ the gentleman said, ‘no particular reason why my child should be short.’

The nun gave a temperate shrug, as if to intimate that such things might be beyond our knowledge. ‘She’s in very good health; that’s the best thing.’

‘Yes, she looks sound.’ And the young girl’s father watched her a moment. ‘What do you see in the garden?’ he asked in French.

‘I see many flowers,’ she replied in a sweet, small voice and with an accent as good as his own.

‘Yes, but not many good ones. However, such as they are, go out and gather some for ces dames.’³

The child turned to him with her smile heightened by pleasure. ‘May I, truly?’

‘Ah, when I tell you,’ said her father.

The girl glanced at the elder of the nuns. ‘May I, truly, ma mère?’⁴

‘Obey monsieur your father, my child,’ said the sister, blushing again.

The child, satisfied with this authorization, descended from the threshold and was presently lost to sight. ‘You don’t spoil them,’ said her father gaily.

‘For everything they must ask leave. That’s our system. Leave is freely granted, but they must ask it.’

‘Oh, I don’t quarrel with your system; I’ve no doubt it’s excellent. I sent you my daughter to see what you’d make of her. I had faith.’

‘One must have faith,’ the sister blandly rejoined, gazing through her spectacles.

‘Well, has my faith been rewarded? What have you made of her?’

The sister dropped her eyes a moment. ‘A good Christian, monsieur.’

Her host dropped his eyes as well; but it was probable that the movement had in each case a different spring. ‘Yes, and what else?’

He watched the lady from the convent, probably thinking she would say that a good Christian was everything; but for all her simplicity she was not so crude as that. ‘A charming young lady—a real little woman—a daughter in whom you will have nothing but contentment.’

‘She seems to me very gentille,’⁵ said the father. ‘She’s really pretty.’

‘She’s perfect. She has no faults.’

‘She never had any as a child, and I’m glad you have given her none.’