an
extent of fifty-five hundred square meters.

In the little room at the entrance, where the _concierge_ is usually
found in these French houses, sits one of the sisters, surrounded by
bell-cords and tubes and bells which are constantly in use, bringing
messages to and fro in all directions. A sister is always on duty,
morning, afternoon, and at night when it is necessary, responding with
discreet politeness to the inquiries made. Adjoining are the little
reception rooms, where comers and goers are met, and the consulting-room
of the distinguished oculist, who twice a week gives gratuitously his
valuable services. Then come the office and reception-room of the
chaplain of the house, followed by the little "prophet's chamber,"
occupied by the former directress when she returns upon visits which her
age and poor health render only too infrequent.

What the French call the "_economat_" or business office, next demands
our attention. A dozen registers admirably kept, portfolios of all
kinds, and numberless papers are arranged upon different shelves. The
sister in charge notes in her journal every entrance and every
departure, and all the journeys and leaves of absence of the sisters. In
a safe she has the necessary money for current expenses, the rest being
deposited in the bank. She provides the stores, examines the accounts of
the pharmacy and the kitchen, pays the salaried employees, gives or
sends to each deaconess the modest sum allowed her for personal needs,
and transacts the daily business of the house. She must also every
month hand in three reports--one to the Prefect of Police, another to
the Minister of the Interior, and the third to the Minister of Finance,
giving detailed statistics concerning the age, occupation, and progress
of her _proteges_. "How many know how to read? How many to read and
write? How many to read, write, and cipher? What progress has been made
since the last report?" These are some of the questions she has to
answer; and, meanwhile, if a crowd of little children come in, she turns
from her writing and calculations and plays with them as if she had
nothing else to do.

Let us see where these children come from. Here is the "Salle d'Asile,"
as it is called, with its benches and chairs for the little ones, maps
and historical pictures suspended upon the walls, slates and globes, and
all the belongings of a school-room. The sister who has directed this
school for thirty-five years has seen