en, blue, and red garments, and then vanished within the cells.

The visitors went into the dining-room, at the farther end of which
there was the representation of a forest scene with a hermitage; and
there lay a doe bound with a red cord. The young creature fixed its
great eyes on the strangers, and tugging at its cord, tried to get
away.

The French nun said that the children, aided by one of the sisters who
had a natural talent that way, had themselves arranged the decorations.
Large choirs had been practicing, and one of the pupils, a very
remarkable child, had composed the piece which represented a scene from
the life of the Superior's patron saint.

The German nun regretted that no stranger could be present. A copy of
the song to be introduced in the play was lying upon a chair. The lady,
taking it up, read it and handed it over to the young man, who ran
through the verses. "It's astonishing that a child should have composed
them," said the lady. The young stranger felt obliged to make some
reply, and observed in a somewhat careless tone, "Our German language,
especially when used in rhyming, is an instrument that can easily be
drummed upon, and thrummed upon, by any child."

"I told you so; he is a poet," said the triumphant look of the girl to
her parents.

As they were leaving the dining-hall, now turned into a temporary
theatre, Lina remarked to the pretty Frenchwoman how sorry she was not
to be able to see her young friend, Hermanna Sonnenkamp; she herself
was obliged to return that very evening with her parents, as they had
been invited to attend, to-morrow afternoon, a reception at the
Countess von Wolfsgarten's.

The girl said this with a proud emphasis, as if assured that every one
must know what was the full significance of a reception at Count von
Wolfsgarten's. The Frenchwoman must have noticed it, for she replied,
"Here, on the contrary, we do not know each other by the names applied
to us in the world outside; we here know only our convent names."

"May I know yours?" "Certainly; I am called sister Seraphia." The girl
seemed now on more intimate terms with the French sister, since she
could call her "sister Seraphia;" and she rejoiced at the thought of
being able to tell at home, in her own little town, about the nun of
high rank, at least a princess, whose acquaintance she had made. They
walked back through the long gallery, and as they went down the steps,
there came up a snow-white form w