ot alone the only happiness in
life: it is the only reason for living."

"I know you think so, Miss Dumont."

"You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer in Russia."

"It's a little more selfish with me. I'm a medical student; it's a
liberal education for me even to drive an ambulance."

"There is only one profession nobler than that practised by the
physician, who serves his fellow men," she said in a low, dreamy
voice.

"Which profession do you place first?"

"The profession of those who serve God alone."

"The priesthood?"

"Yes. And the religious orders."

"Nuns, too?" he demanded with the slightest hint of impatience in his
pleasant voice.

The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled slightly.

"Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I should now he entering
upon my novitiate among the Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think,
had there been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. We
talked it over. But the Empress would not permit it. And then came the
trouble about the Deaconesses. That was a grave mistake----"

She checked herself, then:

"I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand."

"Poor lady," he said, "such gentle criticism would seem praise to her
now."

They were walking through a pine belt, and in the shadows of that
splendid growth the snow remained icy, so that they both slipped
continually and she took his arm for security.

"I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, as so austerely
inclined," he said.

She smiled: "Because I've been a cheerful companion--even gay? Well,
my gaiety made my heart sing with the prospect of seeing again my
dearest friend--my closest spiritual companion--my darling little
Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally enough, good company on
our three days' journey."

He smiled: "I never suspected you of such extreme religious
inclinations," he insisted.

"Extreme?"

"Well, a novice----" he hesitated. Then, "And you mean, ultimately, to
take the black veil?"

"Of course. I shall take it some day yet."

He turned and looked at her, and the man in him felt the pity of it as
do all men when such fresh, virginal youth as was Miss Dumont's turns
an enraptured face toward that cloister door which never again opens
on those who enter.

Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his; the cold had made
her cheeks very pink and had crisped the tendrils of her brown hair
under the fur toque.

"If," she said