Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories | Page 2

had had a great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her
for ever. From that time she had never left the house in which she had
been born, and had lived the life of a nun in everything but being
enclosed in convent walls. At first she had had her parents to take care
of, but when they died she had been left entirely alone in the great
_château_, and devoted herself to prayer and works of charity among
the villagers and country people.
"Ah! she is good--she is a saint Mademoiselle," the poor people always
said when speaking of her; but they also always looked a little
awe-stricken when she appeared, and never were sorry when she left
them.
She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, which never
smiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but however grateful her

pensioners might be, nobody would ever have dared to dream of loving
her. She was just and cold and severe. She wore always a straight black
serge gown, broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her
waist. She read nothing but religious works and legends of the saints
and martyrs, and adjoining her private apartments was a little stone
chapel, where the servants said she used to kneel on the cold floor
before the altar and pray for hours in the middle of the night.
The little _curé_ of the village, who was plump and comfortable, and
who had the kindest heart and the most cheerful soul in the world, used
to remonstrate with her, always in a roundabout way, however, never
quite as if he were referring directly to herself.
"One must not let one's self become the stone image of goodness," he
said once. "Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh
and blood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best."
But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh and
blood--she was more like a marble female saint who had descended
from her pedestal to walk upon the earth.
And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to
her. She attended strictly to the child's comfort and prayed many
prayers for her innocent soul, but it can be scarcely said that her
manner was any softer or that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used
to scream at the sight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid,
handsome face, but in course of time she became accustomed to them,
and, through living in an atmosphere so silent and without brightness, a
few months changed her from a laughing, romping baby into a pale,
quiet child, who rarely made any childish noise at all.
In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw little of anyone
but the servants, who were all trained to quietness also. As soon as she
was old enough her aunt began her religious training. Before she could
speak plainly she heard legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She
was taken into the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed in
miracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment if she had
met the Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful rambling gardens
which surrounded the _château_. She was a sensitive, imaginative child,
and the sacred romances she heard filled all her mind and made up her
little life. She wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in
wandering in the terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was

possible in modern days, and what she must do to obtain such holy
victory. Her chief sorrow was that she knew herself to be delicate and
very timid--so timid that she often suffered when people did not
suspect it--and she was afraid that she was not brave enough to be a
martyr. Once, poor little one! when she was alone in her room, she held
her hand over a burning wax candle, but the pain was so terrible that
she could not keep it there. Indeed, she fell back white and faint, and
sank upon her chair, breathless and in tears, because she felt sure that
she could not chant holy songs if she were being burned at the stake.
She had been vowed to the Virgin in her babyhood, and was always
dressed in white and blue, but her little dress was a small conventual
robe, straight and narrow cut, of white woollen stuff, and banded
plainly with blue at the waist. She did not look like other children, but
she was very sweet and gentle, and her pure little pale face and large,
dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. When she was old enough to visit
the poor with her Aunt Clotilde--and