The Pelicans by E.M. Delafield

As the meal drew towards a close two or three of the girls began to push back their chairs, murmuring to their neighbours: "Well -- if you'll excuse me," and left the room after a rapid Sign of the Cross, apparently directed at the centre of the table. Mrs. Mulholland inclined her monumental bulk over her empty plate for a few seconds, crossed herself devoutly two or three times, and then said rather majestically to Nina Severing:

"If you care to go over the house and garden a little later on, you must come to my room. On the ground floor, the first door you see at the end of that passage. It's been my room for eighteen years. It's a great joke in the community that I've been here longer than Mère Pauline has -- several years longer. I was here in the time of Mère Alphonsine -- a great saint, Mère Alphonsine -- ah, yes, indeed. Not that I mean to say Mère Pauline isn't a saint in her own way, you know, but of course there it is. I remember her arrival here as a young nun who'd not yet taken her final vows. I was here for her profession fifteen years ago. I often chaff her about it, you know, ‘Ah, notre Mère,' I say, ‘remember I was here before you were. ' It's quite a household joke, I assure you. ‘Mrs. Mulholland was here before you were,' the nuns say. I believe it's quite a catchword at the community recreations. Now let me show you my room, Mrs. Severing; you must learn to find your way here, you know. _La mère des Dames -- pensionnaires_, the lay-sisters call me. That's right, Miss Grantham -- come right in."