The Exiles by Gilbert Morris Page A

who was sitting across from her father, said, “She is named right, Cretien. She is a real songbird.”
    “Oh, yes, she sings constantly. I believe she’s going to grow up and be an opera star.”
    “That would be wonderful,” Miss Culver said with a smile.
    After the performance Chantel talked excitedly. She had been rather shy at first, but Miss Culver drew her out. When the carriage stopped, she leaned forward and said, “We must do this many times, Chantel.”
    “Yes, please. I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Culver.”
    Chantel sat there until her father returned, and when he got into the carriage and settled back, he asked, “How did you like our guest?”
    “She’s very pretty.”
    “Yes, she is.”
    “Have you known her a long time, Papa?”
    Cretien hesitated briefly, then said, “Why, yes, for quite some time.” He changed the subject. “Well, you begin school next Monday. I will be expecting fine reports.”
    “I will do the very best I can, Papa.”
    “I’m sure you will, my dear.”
    When they got inside their house, Cretien bent over and kissed her cheek. “Go to bed now. It’s late for you.”
    “Good night, Papa. I had such a good time, but I always have a good time with you.”
    Chantel went quickly to her room and at once withdrew her journal. She sat down and wrote of the evening at great length.
    Miss Culver is very pretty, and I like her. Papa has known her a long time, and I hope she liked me.
    For a time she stared at the entry and then was aware of a strange sensation. She had liked Miss Culver well enough, but deep inside she also resented her being there. She added:
    She’s very nice, but I would rather have Papa all to myself.
    Closing the journal, she put it into its hiding place and then went to bed. She did not dream of her mother that night, but of being an opera singer on a stage.
    “So this is your daughter, Monsieur Fontaine.”
    “Yes, Sister Martha, and I hope she will prove to be a fine student.”
    Sister Martha was a tall, angular woman with a pair of sharp gray eyes. She wore the black habit of a nun and examined Chantel closely. “I’m sure you’ll do your best to please your father and me and your other instructors, won’t you, Chantel?”
    “Oh, yes, Sister Martha.”
    “Fine! You will be living in with us for a time. I suppose your father has told you.”
    The words struck Chantel hard, and she twisted her head quickly to look at her father.
    “Sister Martha and I decided it would be better for you to stay at the convent for a time. Later on you may come back home.”
    “But, Papa—”
    “I meant to tell you about this, but it slipped my mind.”
    Chantel instantly knew that this was not true. Her father often put off things that were unpleasant. She had come to the convent hopeful and excited. Now a heaviness settled upon her, and she dropped her head.
    Sister Martha saw the girl’s reaction and said quickly, “I’m sure you will enjoy it here. You will have plenty of companions, and though the studies are hard, we will find entertainment for you. And you will see your father very often. Is it not so, monsieur?”
    “Why, certainly!” Cretien reached over and put his arm around Chantel. “I will come and get you, and we will go riding in the park. And I will take you out often to the theater.”
    Chantel blinked back her tears and tried to smile, for she knew her father did not like to see her sad. “All right, Papa,” she said. “Please come often.”
    “Now then. Say good-bye to your father, and I will introduce you to your instructors. Then you will meet some of your fellow students.”
    Sister Agnes was a short woman with a round, reddish face and brown eyes. Chantel knew at once that she would be a hard woman to please.
    “All right, girls. This is our new scholar, Chantel Renee Fontaine. I will let you introduce yourselves to her. Then we will begin our class.”
    Sister Martha had brought Chantel to a classroom where Sister Agnes was