Ragna. Anna Miller Costantini
to be alone, to be free to read the note.
This was the beginning of a correspondence, for Astrid answered the letter and an obliging day-scholar posted the little envelope addressed to M. Jules Gauthiez. So the two exchanged perfervid epistles, and wrote such impassioned, if confused, outpourings, that Astrid's little soul was consumed within her. The secret feeling of importance it gave her betrayed itself in the brightness of her eyes and in the self-consciousness of her voice and manner. The regimen of chalk and vinegar fell into abeyance.
Ragna, at first amused, began to be alarmed at the situation; Astrid keyed to the highest pitch of romantic sentimentality, was capable of any folly, and the immediate consequences of discovery, public reprimand and expulsion from the school, spelled unthinkable disaster to her more serious mind. She begged Astrid to give the whole thing up, but the girl would listen to no argument that her friend could put forward. "My love is my life, can you ask me to tear my heart out?" she demanded.
The most Ragna could obtain, was that Astrid should be more prudent—which meant exactly nothing.
Naturally, the Sisters could not long remain unobservant of the change in Astrid's demeanour, and from awakened attention to discovery there lay but a step.
Ragna was making a water colour drawing in the assembly room, when a Sister brought her the order to go at once to the Reverend Mother. She put by her brushes with trembling hands, and the black-robed Sister observed her emotion curiously, but kindly.
"There, there, my child!" she said, "Reverend Mother will do you no harm; she wishes to ask you a question, nothing more. If your conscience is good, what do you fear?"
Ragna followed her without answering, her mind intent on the pending interview.
The Superior's sitting-room was a comfortable apartment; a table stood in the middle, and at one window a large writing desk. One of the walls was occupied by a bookcase, another by a large carved prie-dieu over which hung an ivory crucifix and a silver holy-water stoup with its twig of box.
Mother Marie Sacré Cœur, sat in a large carved armchair by the table. She was a tall, slender woman, and her face, though unlined and delicate as a piece of carved ivory, bore the imprint of long years of responsibility, and conveyed the impression of a wonderful degree of will power. It was not altogether an ascetic face, however, the grey eyes, though keen, were human, and the strong firmly modelled mouth had a humorous twist. The hands, long, slender and white with rather thick thumbs, were lightly clasped over a Book of Hours bound in velvet and silver.
By her side stood the Mère in charge of Astrid's dormitory, Mère Perpétua, a severe, sour-looking woman, yellow under her white guimpe and black veil. Astrid cowered beside her, looking like a prisoner in the grasp of a gendarme; she had been crying, but her eyes had a furtive expression and her weak, pretty mouth was set in obstinate lines. She looked like a trapped animal, badly frightened, but feebly at bay. On the table lay a little pile of crumpled papers, and the ribbon that had bound them.
They all looked eagerly at Ragna as she entered, followed by Sœur Angélique; she glanced at them each in turn, and from Astrid's eyes caught such an agonized appeal for help that her back straightened, and it was with a calm, almost defiant consciousness of definite purpose that she met the Superior's interrogating gaze.
"Ragna," said the Reverend Mother, "we have called you here to ascertain how much you know of this disgraceful affair. Mère Perpétua has found these letters," she indicated the little heap on the table, "hidden in Astrid's mattress. I have read them, they are letters such as no young girl should receive from any man, even her fiancé. Our Rule has been broken by this clandestine correspondence, and our sense of propriety outraged; we are profoundly shocked and grieved."
"Such deceit! Such disgraceful effrontery! She brazenly denies they are hers!" broke in Mère Perpétua, her lean face working.
"Silence!" cried the Superior. "Mère Perpétua, you forget yourself. I had not desired you to speak." She paused a moment, then addressed Ragna.
"You will tell us, my child, all that you know about this; it is your duty to your companion, to us, and to yourself. On your frankness depends to a large extent the punishment I shall deem it necessary to impose; you may lighten it very appreciably, by telling the truth—but if you hesitate, if I understand that you are withholding anything, it will be the worse for both of you."
Mère Perpétua's interruption had been brief, but illuminating. Ragna felt that her way was made clear, it was with a steady eye and a firm, if slightly unnatural voice, that she answered:
"Reverend Mother, the letters are mine; I gave them to Astrid to keep for me."
The effect was electrical. Astrid gasped and her jaw dropped; Mère Perpétua stared at Ragna with the expression of one who has cherished a viper in her bosom, and only just found it out. Sœur Angélique gave a cry that was almost a sob. Ragna was her favourite, and she could have wept with disappointment. Only the Superior showed no surprise; her hands clasped the Book of Hours a little more tightly, and her keen eyes fixed on Ragna's face seemed trying to penetrate her very soul, that was all. Ragna returned her gaze without wavering.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Three months."
"Why did you not keep the letters yourself?"
"I was afraid of being found out!"
"Oh!" said the Reverend Mother, and laughed a little.
Her eyes went from Ragna, straight and proud, to Astrid, trembling violently, and gazing anxiously at her friend.
"And did you answer the letters?"
"Yes."
"Who posted them for you?" Silence.
"Come, who posted them for you?"
"I will not tell," said Ragna. "I will tell anything that I have done myself, but I refuse to tell on others—besides, the blame is mine in any case."
The Superior nodded her head. "I shall not press the point now, we can return to it later if need be. Are you aware of the result of this, of what you have done? No punishment can be too severe for the girl who deceives her friends and teachers so disgracefully, who sets so deplorable an example to her fellow-pupils. What will your parents say to this?"
Ragna went pale: "Oh Reverend Mother," she pleaded, "do anything to me you like, but don't let them know of it! Oh, I know I have done wrong, punish me as much as you please, but don't tell them!"
Astrid gathered herself together for a supreme effort; her cowardly little soul, shamed by her friend's generosity, rose to her lips. With tightly clasped hands, she stepped forward and began:
"Reverend Mother!"—but Ragna interrupted her quickly. She must do the thing thoroughly or not at all; having put her hand to the plough, she would not turn back.
"Reverend Mother, it has been very wrong of me, and I am sorry and ashamed. Punish me however you like. I am to blame, but don't punish Astrid, or hurt my parents; it is no fault of theirs."
The Superior laid her book on the table; her eyes, as she looked at Ragna were full of kindly amusement, and also of respect.
"Sœur Angélique," she said, "take these girls to their dormitories, and keep them till Benediction, afterwards I shall tell them what I have decided upon."
As the door closed on the three, she turned to Mère Perpétua smiling.
"Well?" she said.
"What will you do with them, Reverend Mother? Shall they be publicly expelled?"
"Ragna, as she has confessed, will be 'excused' from further walks outside the Convent; Astrid, for having concealed the letters will be kept at home also. You, ma Mère, will see that no word of this business gets about among the girls—I wish no one to speak of it, no one."
Mère Perpétua was a study in pained amazement.
"What!"