“He was beautiful as an angel,” said Agnes, “only it was not a good beauty.  He looked proud and sad, both,—­like one who is not at ease in his heart.  Indeed, I feel very sorry for him; his eyes made a kind of trouble in my mind, that reminds me to pray for him often.”

“And I will join my prayers to yours, dear daughter,” said the Mother Theresa; “I long to have you with us, that we may pray together every day;—­say, do you think your grandmamma will spare you to us wholly before long?”

“Grandmamma will not hear of it yet,” said Agnes; “and she loves me so, it would break her heart, if I should leave her, and she could not be happy here;—­but, mother, you have told me we could carry an altar always in our hearts, and adore in secret.  When it is God’s will I should come to you, He will incline her heart.”

“Between you and me, little one,” said Jocunda, “I think there will soon be a third person who will have something to say in the case.”

“Whom do you mean?” said Agnes.

“A husband,” said Jocunda; “I suppose your grandmother has one picked out for you.  You are neither humpbacked nor cross-eyed, that you shouldn’t have one as well as other girls.”

“I don’t want one, Jocunda; and I have promised to Saint Agnes to come here, if she will only get grandmother to consent.”

“Bless you, my daughter!” said Mother Theresa; “only persevere and the way will be opened.”

“Well, well,” said Jocunda, “we’ll see.  Come, little one, if you wouldn’t have your flowers wilt, we must go back and look after them.”

Reverently kissing the hand of the Abbess, Agnes withdrew with her old friend, and crossed again to the garden to attend to her flowers.

“Well now, childie,” said Jocunda, “you can sit here and weave your garlands, while I go and look after the conserves of raisins and citrons that Sister Cattarina is making.  She is stupid at anything but her prayers, is Cattarina.  Our Lady be gracious to me!  I think I got my vocation from Saint Martha, and if it wasn’t for me, I don’t know what would become of things in the Convent.  Why, since I came here, our conserves, done up in fig-leaf packages, have had quite a run at Court, and our gracious Queen herself was good enough to send an order for a hundred of them last week.  I could have laughed to see how puzzled the Mother Theresa looked;—­much she knows about conserves!  I suppose she thinks Gabriel brings them straight down from Paradise, done up in leaves of the tree of life.  Old Jocunda knows what goes to their making up; she’s good for something, if she is old and twisted; many a scrubby old olive bears fat berries,” said the old portress, chuckling.

“Oh, dear Jocunda,” said Agnes, “why must you go this minute?  I want to talk with you about so many things!”

“Bless the sweet child! it does want its old Jocunda, does it?” said the old woman, in the tone with which one caresses a baby.  “Well, well, it should, then!  Just wait a minute, till I go and see that our holy Saint Cattarina hasn’t fallen a-praying over the conserving-pan.  I’ll be back in a moment.”