he
said--

"Adora Deum tuum, creatorem tuum" (Adore God, thy Creator).

The superior hesitated, as if she found great difficulty in making this
act of love, but at length she said--

"Adoro te" (I adore Thee).

"Quem adoras?" (Whom dost thou adore?)

"Jesus Christus" (Jesus Christ), answered the nun, quite unconscious
that the verb adorn governs accusative.

This mistake, which no sixth-form boy would make, gave rise to bursts
of laughter in the church; and Daniel Douin, the provost's assessor, was
constrained to say aloud--

"There's a devil for you, who does not know much about transitive
verbs."

Barre perceiving the bad impression that the superior's nominative had
made, hastened to ask her--

"Quis est iste quem adoras?" (Who is it whom thou dost adore?)

His hope was that she would again reply "Jesus Christus," but he was
disappointed.

"Jesu Christe," was her answer.

Renewed shouts of laughter greeted this infraction of one of the most
elementary rules of syntax, and several of those present exclaimed:

"Oh, your reverence, what very poor Latin!"

Barre pretended not to hear, and next asked what was the name of the
demon who had taken possession of her. The poor superior, who was
greatly confused by the unexpected effect of her last two answers, could
not speak for a long time; but at length with great trouble she brought
out the name Asmodee, without daring to latinise it. The exorcist then
inquired how many devils the superior had in her body, and to this
question she replied quite fluently:

"Sex" (Six).

The bailiff upon this requested Barre to ask the chief devil how many
evil spirits he had with him. But the need for this answer had been
foreseen, and the nun unhesitatingly returned--

"Quinque" (Five).

This answer raised Asmodee somewhat in the opinion of those present; but
when the bailiff adjured the superior to repeat in Greek what she
had just said in Latin she made no reply, and on the adjuration being
renewed she immediately recovered her senses.

The examination of the superior being thus cut short, a little nun who
appeared for the first time in public was brought forward. She began by
twice pronouncing the name of Grandier with a loud laugh; then turning
to the bystanders, called out--

"For all your number, you can do nothing worth while."

As it was easy to see that nothing of importance was to be expected from
this new patient, she was soon suppressed, and her pla