her own
gloomy thoughts. In her isolation she required but a single, simple
thing to render her happy,--a thing which costs nothing,--something of
which there is an abundance and to spare in the world, thank God!--and
that was a little show of kindness.

The child was not very sensitive to bad treatment. To that she was
inured; but she had tasted the sweets of kindness, and it had
inspired hopes that already began to wither, encouraged dreams that
had already vanished.

Fouchette was fast falling into her habitual state of childish
cynicism. The police had tricked her, no doubt. She was more than
suspicious of this as she noted their approach towards a pile of
buildings surrounded by a high wall, which reminded her of La
Roquette. This wall had great iron spikes and broken glass bottles set
in cement on top, and seemed to stretch away out of sight in the
growing shadows of evening. Once proceeding parallel with the wall,
the buildings beyond were no longer visible to those outside.

They stopped in front of an immense arched gateway, apparently of the
mediaeval period, with a porter's lodge on one side, slightly recessed.
The gates were of stout oak thickly studded with big-headed nails and
bolts. In the heavy oaken door of the lodge was set a brass "judas," a
small grille closed by an inner slide, and which might be operated by
an unseen hand within so as to betray the identity of any person
outside without unbarring the door,--a not uncommon arrangement in
French gates and outside doors.

If Fouchette had not been restricted by the sides and top of the van,
she might have seen the words "Le Bon Pasteur" carved in the ancient
stone above the great gateway. But, inasmuch as she could not have
read the inscription, and would not have been able to understand it in
any case, it was no great matter.

The driver of the van got down and let fall the old-fashioned iron
knocker. The judas showed a glistening eye for a second, then closed.
This was immediately followed by a slipping of bolts and a clanging of
iron bars, and then the big gates swung inward. They appeared to do
this without human aid, and shut again in the same mysterious way when
the vehicle had passed.

"Supper, thank goodness!" said Sister Agnes, with a sigh.

"You're always hungry----"

"Pretty nearly."

"Always thinking of something to eat," continued the other,
reprovingly. "It is not a good example to the young, sister. The
carnal appetite, it