he chief ministering angel, dispensing blessings
all around her, and growing daily into deeper peace, until one fatal
morning, when a great shock fell upon her.

It was a beautiful, bright morning near the end of June, and the day in
regular rotation on which the mother-superior of the convent made her
official rounds of inspection in the Infants' Asylum.

She arrived early, and, accompanied by Salome, went over every department
of the asylum, from attic to cellar, from dormitory to recreation
grounds, and found all well, and approved and delighted in the
well-being.

After her long walk she sat down to rest in the children's play-room, and
directed Salome to take a seat by her side.

The room was full of little children. Not seated in orderly rows, as we
have too often seen in Infant Asylums on exhibition days; but moving
about everywhere as freely as their little limbs would carry them, and
making quite as much noise as their health and well-being certainly
required.

Among them was little Marie Perdue, now a bright, fair, blue-eyed cherub
of seven months old, seated on a mat, and tossing about with screams of
delight a number of small, gay-hued India-rubber balls.

The abbess was watching the children with pleased attention, when one of
the lay sisters entered and put a card in her hands, saying that the
gentleman and lady were waiting at the porter's wicket, and desired
permission to see the interior of the Infant Asylum.

"Certainly, they are welcome," said the abbess. "Go and tell Sister
Francoise to be their guide."

The lay sister left the room, and the abbess gave her attention again
to the children, making occasional remarks on their health, beauty,
playfulness, and so forth, which were all sympathetically responded to
by Salome, until they heard the sounds of approaching voices and
footsteps, and the visiting party, escorted by Sister Francoise.

Then the abbess and her companion ceased speaking, and lowered their eyes
to the floor until the strangers should pass them.

But the strangers lingered on their way, noticing individual children for
beauty, or brightness, or some other trait which seemed to attract.

The gentleman, speaking French with an English accent, asked questions in
too low a tone to reach the ears of the abbess and her companion; but the
lady kept silence.

At length, as the visitors drew nearer, they came upon little Marie
Perdue, sitting on her mat, engaged in tossing about h