More than this, they had an indissoluble link in common they were all part of a family. They could talk of their mothers and fathers, their sisters and brothers. They could complain as they often did, of parental authority.

‘My mother won’t let me go to dances, she says I’m too young!’

‘My father is terribly strict – ’

‘They could also boast of their families’ possessions or exploits – and this was an endless diversion. The size of their houses, their father’s wealth, their mother’s jewels, their sister’s beaux, their brother’s success with girls were all subjects for which they could take personal credit.

Mistral would listen to them, then creep away by herself. There was nothing she could contribute to the conversation. For her the whole world was bounded by the tall grey walls of the Convent.

Fortunately she was able to read. At times she thought that if it had not been for the books lent to her by Father Vincent her restlessness might have got beyond control. But Father Vincent was wise. He was her Confessor and he realised the seething undercurrents which were apparent sometimes behind the clear frankness of Mistral’s eyes.

Perhaps, too, he appreciated that her brain was exceptionally clear and active and perceived not only that she easily surpassed girls of her own age, but also that it was becoming quite a problem to find qualified teachers for her.

Father Vincent was an extremely well educated man. He was an aristocrat who had chosen to enter the Church rather than follow the family tradition and go into politics. He had acquired a vast library of books to which he added year after year. They were not perhaps the reading that the Mother Superior would have chosen for a young girl, but Father Vincent had assured her that he considered it essential to Mistral’s development and well being that she should have freedom of choice in this if in nothing else.

‘You can ride a young horse on the bridle for too long,’ he said, and the Mother Superior had understood.

‘Mistral is a sweet child,’ she said. ‘I half hoped that she would have a vocation, for I understand she has no home and I worry as to what will happen when she leaves here.’

‘Do not try to persuade her to take the veil,’ Father Vincent said authoritatively. ‘She is one of those who need the lessons which only life in the outer world can teach. We can but give her the right standards and ideals by which later she will be able to judge the gold from the dross.’