Anna made things for her. “For instance?” She smiled. ‘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. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome.
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