Brother Jacques Tells the Story of Hiawatha

At the noon meal madame's chair at the table was vacant, and Anne, who
had left madame outside the convent gate and had not seen her since,
went up to the room to ascertain the cause of the absence. She found
the truant asleep, the last vestige of her recent violent tears
fringing her lashes. Silently Anne contemplated the fall and rise of
the lovely bosom, eyed thoughtfully the golden thread which encircled
the white throat; and wondered. Had this poor victim of conspiracy,
this puppet in the cruel game of politics, left behind in France some
unhappy love affair? What was this locket which madame hid so
jealously? She bent and pressed a kiss upon the blooming cheek,
lightly and lovingly. And light as the touch of her lips was, it was
sufficient to arouse the sleeper.

"What is it?" madame said, sitting up. "Oh, it is you, Anne. I am
glad you awoke me. Such a frightful dream! I dreamt that I had
married the Chevalier du Cévennes! What is the hour?"

"It is the noon meal, dear. You have been weeping."

"Yes, for France, beloved France, with all its Mazarins and its cabals.
Anne, dear, I must confess. I can not remain here. I am afraid,
afraid of D'Hérouville, the vicomte. I am going to return on the Henri
IV. I can bear it here no longer. I shall find a hiding place beyond
the reach of Mazarin."

"As you think best. But why not enter the Ursulines with me? There is
peace in the House of God."