Of the fifty years of this lady’s life, forty had been spent in the convent where she had lived as pupil, novice, nun and abbess.  Her cloistered life had been passed in active good works, if nurturing infancy, educating orphans, cheering age, and ordering and governing an excellent academy for young ladies, can be called so.

And whatever such a life may have brought to others, it brought to this princess of the banished Orleans family perfect peace.

She stood now looking down with infinite pity on the stricken form and face of her late pupil.  She saw that some heavy blow from sorrow had crushed her.  And she did not wonder at this.

For to the apprehension of the abbess, the world from which her late pupil had returned was full of tribulation, as the convent was full of peace.

She stood looking down on her a moment, and then murmured, in tones of ineffable tenderness: 

“My child!”

“Mother Genevieve!  My dear mother!” answered Salome, clasping her hands and looking up.

The abbess drew a chair to the side of the cot, sat down, and took the hand of her pupil, saying: 

“You have come back to us, my child.  I thought you would.  You are most welcome.”

“Oh, mother! mother!  I am driven back to you for shelter from a storm of trouble!” exclaimed Salome, in great excitement, her cheeks burning, and her eyes blazing with the fires of fever.

“We will receive you with love and cherish you in our hearts—­unquestioned—­for, my child, you are too ill to give us any explanation now,” said the abbess, gently, laying her soft, cool hand upon the burning brow of the girl.

“Oh! mother, mother, let me talk now and unburden my heavy heart!  You know not how it will relieve me to do so to you.  I could not do so to any other.  Let me tell you, dear mother, while I may, before it shall be too late.  For I am going to be very ill, mother; and perhaps I may die!  Oh Heaven grant I may be permitted to die!” fervently prayed Salome, clasping her hands.

“Hush, hush, my poor, unhappy child.  I know not what your sorrow has been, but it cannot possibly justify you in your sinful petition.  Life, my child, is the greatest of boons, since it contains within it the possibility of eternal bliss.  We should be deeply thankful for simple life, whatever may be its present trials, since it holds the promise of future happiness,” said the gentle abbess.

“Oh, mother, my life is wrecked—­is hopelessly wrecked!” groaned Salome.

“Nay, nay, only storm-tossed on the treacherous seas of the world.  Here is your harbor, my child.  Come into port, little, weary one!” said the abbess, with a tender, cheerful smile.

“Oh, mother, your wayward pupil has wandered far, far from your teachings!  She has become a heathen—­an idolator!  Yes, she set up unto herself an idol, and she worshiped it as a god, until at last, IT FELL!—­IT FELL!  AND CRUSHED HER UNDER ITS RUINS!” said Salome, growing more and more excited and feverish.