u going?"

"To the Lady Abbess, old crow of a portress! It is Madame the wife of
General Khlobestovsky who sends me; don't you recognize me? Take your
eyes out of your pocket."

"Yes, if one had time to study your face! You have all the same faces,
as like each other as the curbstones of pavements. It is a sin to have
to do with you. Wait till I call Sister Anastasia; she will go to our
Mother. Have you a letter? Give it me. A pretty word--'crow of a
portress.' You think yourself somebody because you are covered with
clothes belonging to your master. Wait! Wait! when the hour of your
death strikes, you will remember that 'crow of a portress,' and you will
repent. But God is good; He will pardon you; because you lack brains.
Consider at any rate, great booby, where you are. 'A crow' ... the
idiot!"

II

Sister Helene, after having left the empty church, turned to the left to
reach her cell. A row of little windows, constructed at different
heights, illuminated the darkness here and there, and were reflected in
the pools of water formed by the last rain-fall. A pavement formed of
planks ran along the length of these little dwellings; there was no
uniformity in their design, but some of them were picturesque; by
daylight the convent presented an original aspect. None of these
dwellings resembled each other; some were two stories, others a story
and a half high. In these lived the sisters who were well-to-do. They
were painted different colours--grey, rose, white, etc. In summer lime
trees and birches sheltered them from the sun. To-day the wind whistled
through the naked branches.

Helene had not yet reached her door, when she saw approaching her, like
a red point in the darkness, some one carrying a lantern.

"Who comes there?" she asked.

"Is it you, Sister?" answered a youthful voice whose musical tones
sounded strange in the blackness of the night.

"What! Is it you? You come to meet me?"

"Yes, I have prepared the samovar (tea-urn). As you did not come, I
feared something had happened, and here I am."

"I had forgotten in the church how time passed, and Sister Seraphine
made me come out."

"It was time; it has struck seven."

"And you--what have you been doing? I have not seen you the whole day."

"I have been painting; then I tried to read, but my head felt heavy. I
think my John the Baptist is not a success."

"Why?"

"I cannot give him the aspect of an ascetic; his eyes, his smile are too
swe