When she spoke the word "mother," the magistrate
fancied she would show some sign of emotion.
But he was mistaken. On the contrary, her voice became harsher,
and a flash of anger, as it were, darted from her eyes.
"I suffered exceedingly in that asylum," she resumed. "Sister
Calliste left the establishment, and all the surroundings chilled
and repelled me. My only few hours of happiness were on Sundays,
when we attended church. As the great organ pealed, and as I
watched the priests officiating at the altar in their gorgeous
vestments, I forgot my own sorrows. It seemed to me that I was
ascending on the clouds of incense to the celestial sphere which
the sisters so often talked to us about, and where they said each
little girl would find her mother."
Mademoiselle Marguerite hesitated for an instant, as if she were
somewhat unwilling to give utterance to her thoughts; but at last,
forcing herself to continue, she said: "Yes, I suffered
exceedingly in that foundling asylum. Almost all my little
companions were spiteful, unattractive in person, sallow, thin,
and afflicted with all kinds of diseases, as if they were not
unfortunate enough in being abandoned by their parents. And--to
my shame, monsieur, I must confess it--these unfortunate little
beings inspired me with unconquerable repugnance, with disgust
bordering on aversion. I would rather have pressed my lips to a
red-hot iron than to the forehead of one of these children.
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