them individual tutorials, Cecile, too, I believe. And sadly it is not so easy to find female lecturers in the sciences. We can hope that she returns, but unfortunately I doubt it.”
I expressed my surprise that the natural sciences were a part of the school’s curriculum at all. They certainly had not been at Madame Aubrey’s Academy for Young Ladies, where I had passed entirely too many years of my life.
“It is the belief of the Bernardine sisters that the world cannotafford to waste the intelligence of young women,” said Mother Filippa with a small sniff. She had an unusually well-formed nose, I noticed. “The founder of our order, Saint Bernarda, wrote one of the most treasured works of her time, on fever illnesses and their treatment. We do not teach our girls only French poetry, hymns, and embroidery; history, geography, biology, chemistry, physics, and of course mathematics are all equally important to their education. We have a very good teaching laboratory. Would you like to see it? We can pass it on our way.”
“Very much,” I said.
When we left the school to walk back toward the convent, a feeling of unfairness burned in my veins. Why had I not been allowed to go to school here? My father had chosen Madame Aubrey because he preferred an education with less emphasis on religion and especially Catholicism, for which he harbored a deep mistrust. We did not go to church very often, and when we did, it was to the small Huguenot chapel in Rue Colombe. But I would have been prepared to swallow a substantial portion of holy water and saint worship if it had given me admission to the institution we had just left. Well-lit workbenches, Bunsen burners, microscopes, copper spools, magnets . . . and, first and foremost, knowledge. Knowledge instead of posture and good manners. I could not refrain from sighing.
Mother Filippa glanced at me.
“Are you tired? Would you like to rest a moment before we continue?”
“No. No, I am just a bit envious of your pupils.”
“In what regard?”
“I am afraid Madame Aubrey’s Academy for Young Ladiesfound female intelligence much less indispensable than you do,” I said, and silently wished that we had used more time to discuss the subject matter of books and less time wandering around with them on our heads.
“Imogene?” Mother Filippa pushed open the door to the sisters’ refectory. “Imogene, we have a visitor . . .”
“No!” The woman in the postulant habit looked up abruptly, and there was a terror in her gaze that stopped me short. “I do not want to see him! I . . .” Then she saw me, and she realized that she had misunderstood the situation. “Oh, pardon me. Good afternoon.” She had been in the process of scrubbing the long table with soapy water and was still clutching the brush in one hand. Her throat and face flushed unevenly with nerves or effort, and there was a worried furrow between her eyebrows that looked as if it was more or less permanent. Of whom was she so afraid?
“Mademoiselle Karno is conducting a health examination of the school’s pupils and teachers. We think it best that you also participate, since you are still officially on the teaching staff.” Mother Filippa spoke with a calming authority that would have made any animal or child relax and lie down. It had no visible effect on Imogene Leblanc.
“Health examination?” she said suspiciously. “How so?”
“I would like your permission to examine your nostrils and throat,” I said. “It will only take a moment.”
Her expression did not change. Her eyes were very pale, gray or perhaps a watery blue, it was hard to determine. What you could see of her hair was frizzy and auburn and as lusterless as the fur on a dead animal. She looked at me for so long that I began to wonder if she would refuse, and what I would do if she did.
“If you really feel it is necessary,” she said at last. “But I have my work to do.”
“Thank you, Imogene,” said
I expressed my surprise that the natural sciences were a part of the school’s curriculum at all. They certainly had not been at Madame Aubrey’s Academy for Young Ladies, where I had passed entirely too many years of my life.
“It is the belief of the Bernardine sisters that the world cannotafford to waste the intelligence of young women,” said Mother Filippa with a small sniff. She had an unusually well-formed nose, I noticed. “The founder of our order, Saint Bernarda, wrote one of the most treasured works of her time, on fever illnesses and their treatment. We do not teach our girls only French poetry, hymns, and embroidery; history, geography, biology, chemistry, physics, and of course mathematics are all equally important to their education. We have a very good teaching laboratory. Would you like to see it? We can pass it on our way.”
“Very much,” I said.
When we left the school to walk back toward the convent, a feeling of unfairness burned in my veins. Why had I not been allowed to go to school here? My father had chosen Madame Aubrey because he preferred an education with less emphasis on religion and especially Catholicism, for which he harbored a deep mistrust. We did not go to church very often, and when we did, it was to the small Huguenot chapel in Rue Colombe. But I would have been prepared to swallow a substantial portion of holy water and saint worship if it had given me admission to the institution we had just left. Well-lit workbenches, Bunsen burners, microscopes, copper spools, magnets . . . and, first and foremost, knowledge. Knowledge instead of posture and good manners. I could not refrain from sighing.
Mother Filippa glanced at me.
“Are you tired? Would you like to rest a moment before we continue?”
“No. No, I am just a bit envious of your pupils.”
“In what regard?”
“I am afraid Madame Aubrey’s Academy for Young Ladiesfound female intelligence much less indispensable than you do,” I said, and silently wished that we had used more time to discuss the subject matter of books and less time wandering around with them on our heads.
“Imogene?” Mother Filippa pushed open the door to the sisters’ refectory. “Imogene, we have a visitor . . .”
“No!” The woman in the postulant habit looked up abruptly, and there was a terror in her gaze that stopped me short. “I do not want to see him! I . . .” Then she saw me, and she realized that she had misunderstood the situation. “Oh, pardon me. Good afternoon.” She had been in the process of scrubbing the long table with soapy water and was still clutching the brush in one hand. Her throat and face flushed unevenly with nerves or effort, and there was a worried furrow between her eyebrows that looked as if it was more or less permanent. Of whom was she so afraid?
“Mademoiselle Karno is conducting a health examination of the school’s pupils and teachers. We think it best that you also participate, since you are still officially on the teaching staff.” Mother Filippa spoke with a calming authority that would have made any animal or child relax and lie down. It had no visible effect on Imogene Leblanc.
“Health examination?” she said suspiciously. “How so?”
“I would like your permission to examine your nostrils and throat,” I said. “It will only take a moment.”
Her expression did not change. Her eyes were very pale, gray or perhaps a watery blue, it was hard to determine. What you could see of her hair was frizzy and auburn and as lusterless as the fur on a dead animal. She looked at me for so long that I began to wonder if she would refuse, and what I would do if she did.
“If you really feel it is necessary,” she said at last. “But I have my work to do.”
“Thank you, Imogene,” said
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