‘I knew it. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. You know how stubborn they get.
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