I couldn’t draw a breath for a moment. “Both?” I finally managed to utter, as stunned by the confirmation that I had siblings I’d known nothing about as by the unbelievable fact that my mother, who’d mounted such initial resistance, could have changed her mind so completely.
“Yes,” said Mère Sophie. “Isn’t it marvelous? You and your sisters shall be welcomed into our Holy Church together. God must indeed look over your family, my child.”
I scarcely heard the ceremony, did not feel myself incline my head over the font to be sprinkled with holy water. I stood aside, dripping, as Julie brought her baby to the font, followed by Rosine with the struggling little girl, who couldn’t have been more than two, and behaved as I had when I’d been dragged from the flat, kicking up a fuss.
Then it was over. I was now baptized as a Catholic. So were my two sisters.
By the time we departed the chapel, I was swaying with fatigue and a persistent chill. In the garden, Rosine urged the little girl forth. “Jeanne, give your sister Sarah a kiss.”
The child stomped her foot. “She’s not my sister. Régine is.”
Julie clucked her tongue. “Now, Jeanne. We mustn’t be rude. Sarah is your elder sister. Régine is your younger one.” To emphasize her point, she leaned down to show Jeanne the babe, who’d not made a sound. I glimpsed a scrunched face, wisps of dark hair (not a Bernhardt trait, I thought), then looked up to Julie’s terse smile. “Well,” my mother said. “We are all saved now, yes?”
Only I detected the malice in her voice. “Sarah,” she went on, “you’re looking frail. Are you not eating again?” Her question was indifferent, as if she asked if I brushed my hair enough. “You mustn’t let this newfound devotion of yours become an obsession. A communion wafer, however nourishing for the soul, cannot sustain the flesh.”
I stared at her in disbelief. With her babe cradled in her arms and her eyes indulgent, while little Jeanne glared at me as if I were an imposter, Julie said, “Alas, we must return to Paris.”
She walked away. Past the courtyard archway, I saw two gentlemen by the waiting carriage, the same ones I’d seen with her and my aunt at the play. At least my mother had had the foresight this time to leave her suitors outside.
Rosine gave me an uncomfortable embrace. “Sarah, dearest, please do take care. You’re skin and bones. I’m so worried for you.” But she hustled off as soon as she spoke, leaving me standing there.
Mère Sophie said, “That was…precipitous. But you must be so pleased. Not only did your mother agree to let you receive Holy Communion, but you shall also remain with us for several more terms, just as you wished. Isn’t it wonderful, Sarah? Sarah…?”
I opened my mouth to agree, but her voice came at me in fragments, echoing like a distant bell. Icy waves swept over me. As I reached out to her, everything darkened. I couldn’t reassure her as Mère Sophie cried out, for I’d crumpled in delirium at her feet.
VII
I was sequestered in the infirmary with a high fever and severe congestion in my lungs that the nuns feared might be consumption. When I coughed up blood, Mère Sophie summoned a physician from Versailles, who pronounced me “not long for this earth,” plunging the nuns into a frenzy. They tended to me day and night—and held me upright in their arms so I could receive my First Communion, for they were nothing if not diligent about the afterlife. I barely recalled any of it, drifting in and out of a dreamlike haze that I’d brought upon myself. All my deprivations, coupled with the night spent in the chapel, had done their work. In my brief moments of consciousness, I thought I was destined for an early grave.
One morning, I woke to find that while so weak I could barely sit up, I was no longer in the grip of fever. My shift under the sheets and blankets was dry; when Mère Sophie arrived to set her palm to my forehead, she let out a sigh of relief.
“The fever has broken at last.” She regarded me, her face more weathered now, as if she’d aged years. “You gave us such a fright, my child.”
“Am…am I going to die?” I said, in a thread of a voice.
“One day, yes, as all living things must. But not today. Nor, I should think, any time soon, despite your best efforts.” She wagged her finger at me. “You go too far, Sarah. You must practice moderation henceforth. Your enthusiasm gets the better of you and you must learn to restrain it. You could have a magnificent future, if you choose to pursue it wisely.”
I took her advice as a verdict; no one, much less the Reverend Mother, would ever say an aspiring nun had a magnificent future. Sagging against my pillows, I whispered, “I have failed.”
She tilted her head. “Failed? To kill yourself, perhaps, which is a mortal sin no amount of devotion can absolve. Otherwise, I would say you’ve succeeded admirably.” When I didn’t speak, she went on, “You’ve proven that when you set your mind to something, nothing can dissuade you. Quand même should be your motto: ‘Despite the odds.’ It’s the sign of a remarkable character, though you may not believe it now.”
“But not the sign of a nun,” I said, close to tears.
She shook her head. “But a sign of something, nevertheless.” She leaned down to kiss my brow. “You must regain your strength. You are excused for the rest of the term.” She drew back. “Your mother was here.”
I stared at her.
“I sent word,” she said. “Your condition was so grave, we feared last rites might be required. She was abroad, but your aunt Rosine sent her a telegram, at considerable expense, and she came at once. It was two weeks ago. You were in no state to remember her visit. She sat by your bedside for hours; I saw how concerned she was for you. She told me she would return again to see you.”
As I remained dumbfounded, she went on, “When she does return, I suggest you find compassion in your heart and mend this rift between you. She’s your mother. We only have one in this life.”
I lowered my eyes. Julie had been here. She had interrupted her travels to visit me.
I didn’t know whether to rejoice or to dread her next appearance.
* * *
I was able to walk and spend time outside by the time Julie arrived again. When she suddenly walked into the garden, dressed in a pink satin gown and matching capelet, a feathered bonnet atop her head, I braced myself for her avalanche of recriminations, aware I must look like a specter. Although the nuns had plied me with pottages—and I’d downed every one like a starving lioness—I was still severely underweight, my veins visible under my colorless skin.
I sat on a chair, wrapped in a shawl despite the balmy day. César, devoted as ever, slumbered at my feet. The summer term was almost over and the girls were impatient for the upcoming August reprieve, when they’d go home to spend a month with their families. I’d always welcomed the silence that settled over the convent during the summer holiday, for I never went home. Neither did Marie and a few others, so we enjoyed a much less demanding routine, allowed to tarry in art class and romp about the convent grounds.