They entered the next house, where, in a large, warm, light room, plainly furnished, about twenty old women, from sixty to ninety years of age, were collected.  They were neatly dressed in gray stuff gowns, white aprons, white kerchiefs, and white Normandy caps.  And all were busy—­some knitting, some sewing, some tatting.

They bowed and smiled a welcome to the visitor, who responded in the same manner.

“These, also, half support themselves by their work,” said the abbess; “but the proportion of sick among them is greater than among the men.  There are ten in the infirmary.”

They went next to the orphan boys’ asylum, where fifty male children of ages from three to twelve years were lodged, fed, clothed, and educated.

“What becomes of these when they leave here?” inquired Salome.

“We send them out as apprentices to learn trades; and we find homes for them,” answered the abbess.

“Can you always find good homes and masters for them?”

“Yes, always.  We do it through the secular clergy.  Now let us go into the girls’ asylum,” said the abbess, leading the way to the next institution.

The orphan girls’ asylum was, in many respects, similar to the boys’ home.

“Do you wish to know what becomes of these, when they leave here?” inquired the abbess, anticipating the question of her companion.  “I will tell you.  The greater number of them are sent out to service as cooks, chambermaids, seamstresses, or nursery governesses.  Some few, who show unusual intelligence, are educated for teachers.  If any one among their number evinces talent for any particular art, she is trained in that art.  My child, we have sent out more than one artist from our orphan girls’ asylum,” said the abbess.

“How much good you do!” exclaimed Salome.

“Let us go into the Foundling,” said the mother-superior, leading the way to the last house of the eastern row of buildings.

Ah! here was a sight sorrowful enough to make the “angels weep!”

The abbess led her companion into a long room, clean, warm, light and airy, with about thirty narrow little cots, arranged in two rows against the walls, fifteen on each side, with a long passage between them.  About half a dozen of these cots were empty.  On the others lay about twenty-four of the most pitiable of all our Lord’s poor—­young infants abandoned by their unnatural parents.  All these were under twelve months old, and were pale, thin, and famished-looking.  Some were sleeping, and seemingly, ah! so aged and care-worn in their sleep; some were clasping nursery-bottles in their skeleton hands, and sucking away for dear life; one little miserable was wailing in restless pain, and sending its anguished eyes around in appealing looks for relief.

Four women of the sisterhood were on duty here, and each one sat with a pining infant on her lap, while there was no one to attend to the wants of that wailing little sufferer on the bed.