it that
way--no, the other way--it is in the glass--so--now keep it there while
I put in a pin--no, no--in the same place, but the other way--oh, Sister
Paul! Did you never do your hair when you were a girl?"

"That was so long ago," answered the nun meekly. "Let me try again."

The result was passably satisfactory at last, and assuredly not wanting
in the element of novelty.

"Are you not afraid to go alone?" asked Sister Paul with evident
preoccupation, as Beatrice put a few more touches to her toilet.

But the young girl only laughed and made the more haste. Sister Paul
walked with her to the head of the stairs, wishing that the rules would
allow her to accompany Beatrice into the parlour. Then as the latter
went down the nun stood at the top looking after her and audibly
repeating prayers for her preservation.

The convent parlour was a large, bare room, lighted by a high and grated
window. Plain, straight, modern chairs were ranged against the wall
at regular intervals. There was no table, but a square piece of green
carpet lay upon the middle of the stone pavement. A richly ornamented
glazed earthenware stove, in which a fire had just been lighted,
occupied one corner, a remnant of former aesthetic taste and strangely
out of place since the old carved furniture was gone. A crucifix of
inferior workmanship and realistically painted hung opposite the door.
The place was reserved for the use of ladies in retreat and was situated
outside the constantly closed door which shut off the cloistered part of
the convent from the small portion accessible to outsiders.

Keyork Arabian was standing in the middle of the parlour waiting for
Beatrice. When she entered at last he made two steps forward, bowing
profoundly, and then smiled in a deferential manner.

"My dear lady," he said, "I am here. I have lost no time. It so happened
that I received your note just as I was leaving my carriage after a
morning drive. I had no idea that you were in Bohemia."

"Thanks. It was good of you to come so soon."

She sat down upon one of the stiff chairs and motioned to him to follow
her example.

"And your dear father--how is he?" inquired Keyork with suave
politeness, as he took his seat.

"My father died a week ago," said Beatrice gravely.

Keyork's face assumed all the expression of which it was capable. "I
am deeply grieved," he said, moderating his huge voice to a soft and
purring sub-bass. "He was an old and valued frie