to keep my trunk, and you will have a visit from the commissary of police in short order. And, if religion consists in patching the dirty pantaloons of your chaplains, in stealing bread from poor girls, in speculating on the horrors that go on every night in the dormitory" . . .
The good sister was fairly white. She tried to cover my voice with her own.
"Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle!"
"Oh! don't pretend ignorance of the dirty things that go on every night in the dormitory! Do you dare to tell me, in my face, your eyes looking into mine, that you are ignorant of them? You encourage them because they are profitable to you,—yes, because they are profitable to you."
And trembling, panting, with dry throat, I completed my accusation.
"If religion is all that; if it is religious to keep a prison and a brothel,—well, then, I have enough of religion. My trunk, do you hear? I wish my trunk. You will give me my trunk at once."
Sister Boniface was frightened.
"I do not wish to discuss with a lost creature," said she, in a voice of dignity. "All right; you shall go."
"With my trunk?"
"With your trunk."
"Very well; but it takes tall talk to get one's rights here. It is worse than at the custom-house."
