together in the
reading-room, the entire community. Elysee had been speaking of the
Mother-house, concerning which Brother Barnabas, an odd little Lorrainer
who spoke better German than French, and who regarded Paris with the
true provincial awe and veneration, exhibited much curiosity. We had a
visitor, a gaunt, self-sufficient old Parisian, who had spent fourteen
days in the Mazas prison during the Commune. I will call him Brother
Albert, for his true name in religion is very well known.

"I heard a curious story in the Vaugirard house," said the Brother
Director, refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff, "which made the more
impression upon me that I once knew intimately one of the persons in it.
Martin Delette was my schoolmate at Pfalsbourg, in the old days. A fine,
studious lad he was, too. He took orders and went to the north where he
lived for many years a quiet country cure. He had a niece, a charming
girl, who is not now more than twenty or one-and twenty. She was an
orphan, and lived with him, going to a convent to school and returning
at vacations. She was not a bad girl, but a trifle wayward and easily
led. She gave the Sisters much anxiety. Last spring she barely escaped
compromising the house by an escapade with a young _miserable_ of the
town named Banin."

"I know your story," said Albert, with an air which hinted that this
was a sufficient reason why the rest should not hear it. "Banin is in
prison."

Elysee proceeded: "The girl was reprimanded. Next week she disappeared.
To one of her companions she had confided a great desire to see Paris.
So good Father Delette was summoned, and, after a talk with the
Superioress, started post-haste for the capital. He found no signs
either of poor Renee or of Banin, who had also disappeared. The Cure was
nearly heart-broken. Each day, they told me, added a year to his
appearance. He did not cease to importune the police chiefs and to haunt
the public places for a glimpse of his niece's face. But the summer
came, and no Renee. The Cure began to cough and grow weak. But one day
in August the Director, good Prosper, called him down to the
reception-room to see a visitor.

"'There is news for you,'" he whispered, pressing poor Martin's hand.
"In the room he found--"

"In the room he found--" broke in Albert, impertinently, but with a
quiet tone of authority which cowed good Elysee, "a shabby man, looking
like a poorly-fed waiter. This person rose and said, 'I am