Sister Frances placed in the middle of the table on which the chestnuts were spread a small earthenware furnace—­a delightful toy, commonly used by children in Paris to cook their little feasts.

“This can be bought for sixpence,” said she:  “and if each of you twelve earn one halfpenny apiece to-day, you can purchase it to-night, and I will put a little fire into it, and you will then be able to roast your chestnuts.”

The children ran eagerly to their work—­some to wind worsted for a woman who paid them a liard for each ball, others to shell peas for a neighbouring traiteur—­all rejoicing that they were able to earn something.  The older girls, under the directions and with the assistance of Sister Frances, completed making, washing, and ironing, half a dozen little caps, to supply a baby-linen warehouse.  At the end of the day, when the sum of the produce of their labours was added together, they were surprised to find that, instead of one, they could purchase two furnaces.  They received and enjoyed the reward of their united industry.  The success of their first efforts was fixed in their memory:  for they were very happy roasting the chestnuts, and they were all (Sister Frances inclusive) unanimous in opinion that no chestnuts ever were so good, or so well roasted.  Sister Frances always partook in their little innocent amusements; and it was her great delight to be the dispenser of rewards which at once conferred present pleasure and cherished future virtue.

CHAPTER V

   “To virtue wake the pulses of the heart,
   And bid the tear of emulation start.”

   ROGERS.

Victoire, who gave constant exercise to the benevolent feelings of the amiable nun, became every day more dear to her.  Far from having the selfishness of a favourite, Victoire loved to bring into public notice the good actions of her companions.  “Stoop down your ear to me, Sister Frances,” said she, “and I will tell you a secret—­I will tell you why my friend Annette is growing so thin—­I found it out this morning—­she does not eat above half her soup every day.  Look, there’s her porringer covered up in the corner—­she carries it home to her mother, who is sick, and who has not bread to eat.”

Madame de Fleury came in whilst Sister Frances was yet bending down to hear this secret; it was repeated to her, and she immediately ordered that a certain allowance of bread should be given to Annette every day to carry to her mother during her illness.

“I give it in charge to you, Victoire, to remember this, and I am sure it will never be forgotten.  Here is an order for you upon my baker:  run and show it to Annette.  This is a pleasure you deserve; I am glad that you have chosen for your friend a girl who is so good a daughter.  Good daughters make good friends.”

By similar instances of goodness Victoire obtained the love and confidence of her companions, notwithstanding her manifest superiority.  In their turn, they were eager to proclaim her merits; and, as Sister Frances and Madame de Fleury administered justice with invariable impartiality, the hateful passions of envy and jealousy were never excited in this little society.  No servile sycophant, no malicious detractor, could rob or defraud their little virtues of their due reward.