The carriage rolled along the gravelled road, crossing the court-yard, and drew up before the door of the convent.

Sister Josephine got out and helped Salome to alight.

The sun was just rising in cloudless glory.

“See, my child,” said Sister Josephine, cheerily pointing to the eastern horizon; “see, a happy omen; the sun himself arises and smiles on your re-entrance into St. Rosalie.”

Salome smiled faintly, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her companion as they went slowly up the steps, passed through the front doors, and found themselves in a little square entrance hall, surrounded on three sides by a bronze grating, and having immediately before them a grated door, with a little wicket near the centre.

Behind this wicket sat the portress, a venerable nun, whom age and obesity had consigned to this sedentary occupation.

“Benedicite, good Mother Veronique!  How are all within the house?” inquired Sister Josephine, going up to the wicket.

“The saints be praised, all are well!  They are just going in to matins.  You come in good time, my sisters!  But who is she whom you bring with you?” inquired the old nun, nodding toward Salome, even while she detached a great key from her girdle, and unlocked the door, to admit the party.

“Why, then, Mother Veronique, don’t you see?  An old, well-beloved pupil come back to see our holy mother?  Don’t you recognize her?  Have you already forgotten Mademoiselle Laiveesong, who left us only three years ago?” inquired Sister Josephine, as she led Salome into the portress’ parlor, followed by the two younger sisters, Francoise and Felecitie.

“Ah! ah! so it is!  Mademoiselle Salome come back to us!” joyfully exclaimed the old nun, seizing and fondling the hands of the visitor, and gazing wistfully into her flushed and feverish face.  “Yes, yes, I remember you!  Mademoiselle Laiveesong!  Mademoiselle, the rich banker’s heiress!  I am very happy to see you, my dear child!  And our holy mother will be filled with joy!  She has gone to matins now, but will soon return to give you her blessing.  Ah! ah!  Mademoiselle Salome! Mais Helas! How ill she looks!  Her hands are ice!  Her head is fire!  Her limbs are withes!  She is about to faint!” added Mother Veronique, aside to Sister Josephine.

“She is just off a long and fatiguing journey.  She is tired and hungry, and needs rest and refreshment.  That is all,” answered the sister, drawing the arm of the fainting girl through her own, and supporting her as she led her from the portress’ parlor.

“Ah! ah! is this so?  The dear child!  Take her in and rest and feed her, my sisters!  And when matins are over, bring her to our venerable mother, whose soul will be filled with rapture to see her,” twaddled the old nun, until the party passed in from her sight.

Sister Josephine led Salome to her own cell, and made her loosen her clothes and lie down on the cot-bed, while Sister Francoise and Sister Felecitie went to the refectory and brought her a plate of biscuit and a glass of wine and water.