“As no doubt you know.  Mademoiselle Helbrun, once people are drawn into a Catholic atmosphere—­”

“Yes, I quite understand.  So you sing every day at Benediction, do you, Evelyn?  You are singing to-day?  It will be strange to hear you singing an ‘Ave Maria.’”

“But, Louise, if I sing an ‘O Salutaris,’ will you sing Schubert’s ’Ave Maria’?”

“No, you sing Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria’ and I will sing an ’O Salutaris.’”

Evelyn turned to the Prioress.

“Of course, we shall be only too glad if Mademoiselle Helbrun will sing for us.”

“The last time we saw each other, Louise, was the day of your party in the Savoy Hotel.”

“Yes, didn’t we have fun that day?  We were like a lot of children.  But you went away early.”

“Yes, that day I went to Confession to Monsignor.”

“Was it that day?  We noticed something strange in you.  You seemed to care less for the stage, to have lost your vocation.”

“We hope she has begun to find her vocation,” Mother Hilda answered.

“But that is just what I mean—­in losing her vocation for the stage she has gained, perhaps, her vocation for the religious life.”

“Vocation for the stage?”

“Yes, Mother Hilda,” the Prioress said, turning to the Mistress of the Novices, “the word vocation isn’t used in our limited sense, but for anything for which a person may have a special aptitude.”

“That day of your party—­dear me, how long ago it seems, Louise!  How much has happened since then?  You have sung how many operas?  In whose company are you now?” Before they were aware of it the two singers had begun to chatter of opera companies and operas.  Ulick Dean was secretary of the opera company with which Louise was travelling.  They were going to America in the autumn.  The conversation was taking too theatrical a turn, and the Prioress judged it necessary to intervene.  And without anybody being able to detect the transition, the talk was led from America to the Pope and the Papal Choir.

“May we go into the garden, dear Mother?” Evelyn said, interrupting.  Her interruption was a welcome one; the Prioress in her anxiety to change the subject had forgotten Mr. Innes’s death and Evelyn’s return to Rome.  She gave the required permission, and the four women went out together.

“Do you think we shall be able to talk alone?”

“Yes, presently,” Evelyn whispered.  Soon after, in St. Peter’s Walk, an opportunity occurred.  The nuns had dropped behind, and Evelyn led her friend through the hazels, round by the fish-pond, where they would be able to talk undisturbed.  Evelyn took her friend’s arm.  “Dear Louise, how kind of you to come to see me.  I thought I was forgotten.  But how did you find me out?”

“Sir Owen Asher, whom I met in London, told me I would probably get news of you here.”

Evelyn did not answer.

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”