The whole community turned their heads in amazement，the preacher raised his eyes，but Madame Albertine had relapsed into her immobility.A breath from the outer world，a flash of life，had passed for an instant across that cold and lifeless face and had then vanished，and the mad woman had become a corpse again.
Those two words，however，had set every one in the convent who had the privilege of speech to chattering.
How many things were contained in that'Ah！
Auguste！'what revelations！
M.de Rohan's name really was Auguste.
It was evident that Madame Albertine belonged to the very highest society，since she knew M.de Rohan，and that her own rank there was of the highest，since she spoke thus familiarly of so great a lord，and that there existed between them some connection，of relationship，perhaps，but a very close one in any case，since she knew his'pet name.'
Two very severe duchesses，Mesdames de Choiseul and de Serent，often visited the community，whither they penetrated，no doubt，in virtue of the privilege Magnates mulieres，and caused great consternation in the boarding-school.When these two old ladies passed by，all the poor young girls trembled and dropped their eyes.
Moreover，M.de Rohan，quite unknown to himself，was an object of attention to the school-girls.At that epoch he had just been made，while waiting for the episcopate，vicar-general of the Archbishop of Paris.
It was one of his habits to come tolerably often to celebrate the offices in the chapel of the nuns of the Petit-Picpus.Not one of the young recluses could see him，because of the serge curtain，but he had a sweet and rather shrill voice，which they had come to know and to distinguish.
He had been a mousquetaire，and then，he was said to be very coquettish，that his handsome brown hair was very well dressed in a roll around his head，and that he had a broad girdle of magnificent moire，and that his black cassock was of the most elegant cut in the world.
He held a great place in all these imaginations of sixteen years.
Not a sound from without made its way into the convent.
But there was one year when the sound of a flute penetrated thither.This was an event，and the girls who were at school there at the time still recall it.
It was a flute which was played in the neighborhood.
This flute always played the same air，an air which is very far away nowadays，——'My Zetulbe，come reign o'er my soul，'——and it was heard two or three times a day.
The young girls passed hours in listening to it，the vocal mothers were upset by it，brains were busy，punishments descended in showers.
This lasted for several months.The girls were all more or less in love with the unknown musician.Each one dreamed that she was Zetulbe.
The sound of the flute proceeded from the direction of the Rue Droit-Mur；and they would have given anything，compromised everything，attempted anything for the sake of seeing，of catching a glance，if only for a second，of the'young man'who played that flute so deliciously，and who，no doubt，played on all these souls at the same time.
There were some who made their escape by a back door，and ascended to the third story on the Rue Droit-Mur side，in order to attempt to catch a glimpse through the gaps.
Impossible！
One even went so far as to thrust her arm through the grating，and to wave her white handkerchief.Two were still bolder.
They found means to climb on a roof，and risked their lives there，and succeeded at last in seeing'the young man.'He was an old emigre gentleman，blind and penniless，who was playing his flute in his attic，in order to pass the time.
BOOK SIXTH.——LE PETIT-PICPUS
Ⅵ THE LITTLE CONVENT
In this enclosure of the Petit-Picpus there were three perfectly distinct buildings，——the Great Convent，inhabited by the nuns，the Boarding-school，where the scholars were lodged；and lastly，what was called the Little Convent.
It was a building with a garden，in which lived all sorts of aged nuns of various orders，the relics of cloisters destroyed in the Revolution；a reunion of all the black，gray，and white medleys of all communities and all possible varieties；what might be called，if such a coupling of words is permissible，a sort of harlequin convent.
When the Empire was established，all these poor old dispersed and exiled women had been accorded permission to come and take shelter under the wings of the Bernardines-Benedictines.The government paid them a small pension，the ladies of the Petit-Picpus received them cordially.
It was a singular pell-mell.Each followed her own rule，Sometimes the pupils of the boarding-school were allowed，as a great recreation，to pay them a visit；the result is，that all those young memories have retained among other souvenirs that of Mother Sainte-Bazile，Mother Sainte-Scolastique，and Mother Jacob.
One of these refugees found herself almost at home.
She was a nun of Sainte-Aure，the only one of her order who had survived.The ancient convent of the ladies of Sainte-Aure occupied，at the beginning of the eighteenth century，this very house of the Petit-Picpus，which belonged later to the Benedictines of Martin Verga.
This holy woman，too poor to wear the magnificent habit of her order，which was a white robe with a scarlet scapulary，had piously put it on a little manikin，which she exhibited with complacency and which she bequeathed to the house at her death.In 1824，only one nun of this order remained；to-day，there remains only a doll.
In addition to these worthy mothers，some old society women had obtained permission of the prioress，like Madame Albertine，to retire into the Little Convent.
Among the number were Madame Beaufort d'Hautpoul and Marquise Dufresne.
Another was never known in the convent except by the formidable noise which she made when she blew her nose.
The pupils called her Madame Vacarmini（hubbub）。