Myn Got! haanging runs in some families, Muntmeester. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. People, nobody, can do as they like in this world. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days.
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