At that time, four novices, two ancillae Dei, four converses and four maidens from good homes were residing in the Dominican convent in Cronschwitz. That number fluctuated, since some girls left and others arrived. The arrival of a new one was always a sensation. This new one stood out. The maids’ faces grew alike so quickly that each new arrival immediately caught the eye. This new one also stood out by her posture: she hadn’t yet learned to stoop and humbly bow her head, owing to which she stood taller. Her voice also betrayed her, clashing with the whispers of the others. Naturally, the rigors of the convent swiftly eliminated any differences, levelling them out like a roller, but for some time the new arrival was the season’s sensation.

The girl who was quartered in the dormitory on the Eve of John the Baptist’s Day, had—in Jutta’s opinion—all the qualities of the season’s sensation. She was extremely pretty; her shapely figure couldn’t even be marred by the gruesome sack called there a “habit.” Her chestnut hair lay in a playful curl on her forehead and roguish sparks played in her hazel eyes, as though contradicting the embarrassed expression on her pleasantly oval face.

The girl sat down on the bed assigned to her, the only vacant one in the dormitory. As luck would have it, it was next to Jutta. Who at that moment was sweeping the dormitory.

“I am Weronika,” said the new arrival softly. And obediently. The ban on using surnames was the first thing that was drummed into the converses’ heads. And if a converse’s head wasn’t her strongest suit, the prohibition was drummed into her using other means.

“I am Jutta. Welcome and make yourself comfortable.”

“Decent bed,” said Weronika, jumping up and down on it several times to test it. “The one in Weissenfels was much worse. I hope no one died in it.”

“This month? No. If you don’t count Kunegunda.”

“Dammit!” exclaimed Weronika and stopped jumping. “What did she die of?”

“They say it was her lungs,” said Jutta, smiling with the corners of her mouth. “But I think it was boredom.”

Weronika looked at her for a long time and sparks flickered in her eyes.

“I like you, Jutta,” she said finally. “I’m lucky. I’ll pray for the late Kunegunda today, in gratitude for freeing up her bed for me. Am I as lucky with my neighbour on the left?”

“If you’re fond of halfwits, yes.”

Weronika snorted. And immediately grew serious.

“I truly like you.”

“You truly don’t waste time.”

“Because it’s silly to do so,” said Weronika, looking her in the eyes, “when you meet a kindred spirit. After all, it doesn’t happen every day. Cronschwitz isn’t my first nunnery. Is it yours?”

“No, not mine, either.”