sisterhood, _mademoiselle cherie_, for those who would withdraw
themselves from the world. They are very strict, I believe, the sisters,
and mortify the flesh exceedingly. Me, I cannot see why we should leave
the beautiful world the _bon dieu_ has put us into. For certain, He
would not have put us in if He had not meant us to stay there!"

"Perhaps--they are happier--out of the world, Virginia," suggested Magda
slowly.

"But my niece, who was in the sisterhood a year, was glad to come out
again. Though, of course, she left her sins behind her, and that was
good. It is always good to get rid of one's sins, _n'est-ce pas_?"

"Get rid of your sins? But how can you?"

"If one does penance day and night, day and night, for a whole long
year, one surely expiates them! And then"--with calm certainty--"of
course one has got rid of them. They are wiped off the slate and one
begins again. At least, it was so with my niece. For when she came out
of the sisterhood, the man who had betrayed her married her, and they
have three--no, four _bebes_ now. So that it is evident _le bon dieu_
was pleased with her penance and rewarded her accordingly."

Magda repressed an inclination to smile at the naive simplicity of
Virginie's creed. Life would indeed be an easy affair if one could "get
rid of one's sins" on such an ingenuous principal of quid pro quo!

But Virginie came of French peasant stock, and to her untutored mind
such a process of wiping the slate clean seemed extremely reasonable.
She continued with enthusiasm:

"She but took the Vow of Penitence for a year. It is a rule of the
sisterhood. If one has sinned greatly, one can take a vow of penitence
for a year and expiate the sin. Some remain altogether and take the
final vows. But my niece--no! She sinned and she paid. And then she
came back into the world again. She is a good girl, my niece Suzette.
Mademoiselle has enjoyed her omelet? Yes?"

Magda nodded.

"Yes, Virginie, I've enjoyed it. And I think your niece was certainly a
brave _fille_. I'm glad she's happy now."

For long after Virginie had left her, Magda sat quietly thinking. The
story of the old Frenchwoman's niece had caught hold of her imagination.
Like herself she had sinned, though differently. Within her own mind
Magda wondered whether she or Suzette were in reality the greater sinner
of the two. Suzette had at least given all, without thought of self,
whereas she had only taken--taken with both hands, g