Somebody tapped me on the shoulder.　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
I looked up from the exercise books of my young pupils,
which I was just correcting,
into the lined, kindly face of a little lay sister.

"Reverend Mother Abbess expects you
in her private parlour ," she whispered.

 Before I could close my mouth, which had opened in astonishment,
the door shut behind the small figure. Lay sisters were not supposed
to converse with candidates for the novitate.

I could hardly believe my ears.
We candidates saw Reverend Mother Abbess
only from afar in choir. We were the lowest of the low,
living on the outskirts of the novitate,
wearing our black mantillas, waiting with eager anticipation
for our reception into the novitate.

I had just finished the State Teachers' Course for Progressive Education
in Vienna and had to get my diploma before the heavy doors
of the enclosure would shut behind me - for ever.

It was unheard of that Reverend Mother Abbess should call for a candidate.
What might this mean ?

Her private parlour was far at the other end of the old Abbey,
and I chose the longest detour to go there,
in order to gain time for examining my conscience.

I was the black sheep of the community; there was no doubt about that.
I never meant anything bad,
but my upbringing had been more that that of
a wild boy than that of a young lady.

Time and again I had been warned by the Mistress
of Novices that I could not race over the staircase like that,
taking two and three steps at a time ;
that I definitely could not slide down the banister ;
that whistling, even the whistling of sacred tunes,
had never been heard in these venerable rooms before ;
that jumping over the chimneys on the flat roof
of the school wing was not fitting for an aspirant
to the novitiate of the holy Order of Saint Benedict.

I agreed whole-heartedly each time, but the trouble was,
there were so many trespasses occurring every day.

What was the matter now, I thought,
slowly winding my way down the two flights of old,
worn steps, through the ancient coble-stoned kitchen yard,
where the huge crucifix greets one from the wall,
and where the statue of Saint Erentrudis,
founder of our dear old Abbey, rises above a fountain.
 too."