The Abbe Walter Montagu who had himself been a convert, strove hard to win him over, trying to prove to him that the English Church was extinct, stifled by her own rebellious heretic children, so soon as the grace that was left in her began to work so as to bring her back to Catholic doctrine and practice.  His argument was effectual with many of our fugitives, but not with my brother.  He continued still to declare that he believed that his Church was in the course of being purified, and would raised up again at last; and his heart was too loyal to desert her, any more than his King, because of her misfortunes.  No one shall ever make me believe that he was wrong.  As to Annora, I believe she would rather have been a Huguenot outright than one of us, and she only half trusted me for a long time.

We had begun to settle down into regular habits; indeed, except for the evenings, our days were almost more alike than when in the country.  I had gone, as Madame de Rambouillet had advised me, to Father Vincent, and he introduced me to the excellent Madame Goussault, who had the sweetest old face I ever saw.  She made me a member of the society for attending the poor in the Hotel Dieu, and my regular days were set apart, twice a week, for waiting on the sick.  We all wore a uniform dress of dark stuff, with a white apron and tight white cap, and, unless we were very intimate, were not supposed to recognize one another.

There was good reason for this.  At the next bed to that of my patient there was a lady most tenderly, if a little awkwardly, bathing a poor man’s face with essences.  Her plump form, beautiful hands, and slightly Spanish accent, could only belong to one person, I thought, but I could hardly believe it, and I turned my eyes away, and tried the more diligently to teach my poor ignorant patient the meaning of his Pater and Ave, when suddenly there was a burst of scolding and imprecation from the other bed.  The essence had gone into the man’s eye, and he, a great rough bucheron, was reviling the awkwardness and meddling of ladies in no measured terms, while his nurse stood helplessly wringing her white hands, imploring his pardon, but quite unaware of what was to be done.  Happily, I had a sponge and some warm water near, and I ran up with it and washed the man’s eyes, while the lady thanked me fervently, but the man growled out: 

’That is better; if women will come fussing over us with what they don’t understand—–­ You are the right sort; but for her—–­’

‘Do not stop him,’ hastily said the lady, with her hand on my arm.  ’I love it!  I rejoice in it!  Do not deprive me, for the love of Heaven!’

I knew who she was then, and Madame de Montausier told me I was right; but that I must keep the secret; and so I did, till after Queen Anne of Austria was dead.  She would not let her rank deprive her of the privilege of waiting on the poor, unknown and unthanked; and many hours, when those who blamed her for indolence supposed her to be in bed, she was attending the hospital.