What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “Time for my Patience,” she said. ‘Let me tell you,’ went on the nun severely, ‘it would have been better for you if you had taken the veil. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. Go and prepare for our departure. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely.
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