s away, happily married, with babies clinging to
her knees, and the sufficiency of a gratified life.

Jeanne was sitting upon a silken covered stool, her round arm daintily
reclining on the other's knee. The elder bent over and kissed her on the
forehead.

"You belong to love's world," she said.

Then the gentlemen entered. Mam'selle played on the harpsichord, and
there was conversation until it was time to go.

"You will come again," she exclaimed. "I shall want to see you, though I
know what your decision will be, and I think it right. And now will you
keep this gown as a little gift from me? You may want to go elsewhere.
My mother and I will be happy to chaperon you."

Jeanne looked up, wide-eyed and grateful. "Every one has always been so
good to me," she rejoined. "Then I will not take it off. It will be such
a pleasure to Pani. I never thought to look so lovely."

Both gentlemen attended her home, and gave her a tender good night.

Pleasant as the evening was Pani hovered over a handful of fire. Jeanne
threw some fir twigs and broken pieces of birch bark on the coals, and
the blaze set the room in a glow. "Look, Pani!" she cried, and then she
went whirling round the room, her eyes shining, her rose red lips parted
with a laugh.

"It is a spirit." Pani shook her head and her eyes, distended, looked
frightened in the gleam of the fire. "Little Jeanne has gone, has gone
forever."

Yes, little Jeanne had gone. She felt that herself. She was gay, eager,
impetuous, but something new had stolen mysteriously over her.

"Little Jeanne can never go away from you, Pani. Make room in your lap,
so; now put your arms about me. Never mind the gown. Now, am I not your
little one?"

Pani laughed, the soft, broken croon of old age.

"My little one come back," she kept repeating in a delighted tone,
stroking the soft curls.

The next morning M. St. Armand came for a long call. There was so much
to talk over. He felt sorry for the poor mother, but he, too, objected
strenuously to Jeanne being persuaded into convent life. He praised her
for her perseverance in studying, for her improvement under limited
conditions. Then he wondered a little about her future. If he could have
the ordering of it!

That afternoon Father Rameau came for her. A ship was to sail the next
day for Montreal, and her mother would return in it. But when he looked
in the child's eyes he knew the mother would go alone. Had he been
derelict in dut