in French; "la bonne Mere
Marguerite sera tres tres fachee avec toi."

"Tais-toi, petite sainte!" cried another voice more piercing and
silvery in tone. "Je veux voir qui est la! C'est un homme je sais
bien--parceque la vieille Mere Laura a rougi!" and both young voices
broke into a chorus of renewed laughter.

Then came the shuffling noise of the old nun's footsteps returning; she
evidently caught the two truants, whoever they were, for I heard her
expostulating, scolding and apostrophizing the saints all in a breath,
as she bade them go inside the house and ask the good little Jesus to
forgive their naughtiness. A silence ensued, then the bolts and bars of
the huge gate were undone slowly--it opened, and I was admitted. I
raised my hat as I entered, and walked bareheaded through a long, cold
corridor, guided by the venerable nun, who looked at me no more, but
told her beads as she walked, and never spoke till she had led me into
the building, through a lofty hall glorious with sacred paintings and
statues, and from thence into a large, elegantly furnished room, whose
windows commanded a fine view of the grounds. Here she motioned me to
take a seat, and without lifting her eyelids, said:

"Mother Marguerite will wait upon you instantly, signor."

I bowed, and she glided from the room so noiselessly that I did not
even hear the door close behind her. Left alone in what I rightly
concluded was the reception-room for visitors, I looked about me with
some faint interest and curiosity. I had never before seen the interior
of what is known as an educational convent. There were many photographs
on the walls and mantelpiece--portraits of girls, some plain of face
and form, others beautiful--no doubt they had all been sent to the nuns
as souvenirs of former pupils. Rising from my chair I examined a few of
them carelessly, and was about to inspect a fine copy of Murillo's
Virgin, when my attention was caught by an upright velvet frame
surmounted with my own crest and coronet. In it was the portrait of my
wife, taken in her bridal dress, as she looked when she married me. I
took it to the light and stared at the features dubiously. This was
she--this slim, fairy-like creature clad in gossamer white, with the
marriage veil thrown back from her clustering hair and child-like
face--this was the THING for which two men's lives had been sacrificed!
With a movement of disgust I replaced the frame in its former position;
I had scar