“Yes, moi, believe it or not. But Angela seems real. Genuine. I’m not so sure about Maura.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Maura’s a bookworm. Quiet. Wears thick glasses and never, I mean never, smiles.” She slid a look at Val. “I sometimes wonder if she’s really filled with the Holy Spirit. Doesn’t seem to have much joy in her life.”

“Maybe she’s just an introvert.”

“Maybe,” Camille whispered. “But the one I can’t really get a bead on is Asteria. She seems like a ditz—you know, the kind of dreamer who believes in fairy tales and frogs turning into princes, all that romantic junk.”

“And she became a nun?” That seemed odd.

“Go figure. Sister Edwina told me that Asteria had been engaged to a guy who committed suicide, so Asteria joined the order. Edwina said it was commit herself to God or to a mental institution.”

“Sounds a little overly dramatic.”

“Everyone’s story is. Except for Sister Charity, who says that she knew she wanted to be nun from the time of her First Communion. Can you believe that?”

Camille had stopped herself and sighed loudly. “I guess I shouldn’t be gossiping about any of them. I’d hate to hear what they had to say about me.”

“St. Marguerite’s is starting to sound more like a high school than a convent,” Val had observed.

Cammie had laughed without a whole lot of humor. “You don’t get it, do you?” she’d said. “Of course the convent is like high school. The whole world is like high school. Take a look around.”

What? “Maybe in your world.”

“In everyone’s world,” Cammie had insisted, “and, trust me, the convent is no different. There’s the same pecking order, the same authority figures, the same cliques. It’s just that it’s like an all-girls’ school.” She’d looked away then, her face puckering into a frown.

Val could still see her sister as she’d been that day, dressed in plain street clothes, a simple pair of gray slacks and a white blouse, without a touch of makeup, her black hair pulled back into a thick rope and shining blue in the sun. Camille had walked to a bench and sat down. She’d seemed unbearably sad.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Val had said. “Maybe you’re not cut out to be a nun.”

“I know.” One side of Cammie’s mouth had lifted into a sad, self-deprecating smile. “In for a penny . . .”

“It’s not you.”