“Did the gentleman or lady give anything to the child?”

“Not that I saw, which I thought unkind of them, considering all the interest they showed in words; for, as I say of all the fine ladies who come here and fondle the infants, what’s the use of all the fondling if they never put a sou out, or a stitch in?”

“That will do, sister; I only wanted to know,” answered the young lady, as she determined to keep her own counsel, and confide the news of the surreptitiously offered ring to the abbess only.

When she had rocked her child to sleep, laid it on its little cot, and placed two novices on duty to watch over the slumbers of the children, she left the dormitory by the rectangular passage that led to the nuns’ house, and repaired at once to the cell occupied by the abbess.

It was a plain little den, in no respect better than those tenanted by her humble nuns, twelve feet long, by nine broad, with bare walls, and bare floor, and a small grated window at the farther end, opposite the narrow, grated door by which the cell was entered.  It was furnished poorly with a narrow cot bed, a wooden stool, and a small stand, upon which lay the office-book of the abbess, and above which hung the crucifix.

As Salome entered the cell, the abbess arose from her knees and signed for her visitor to be seated.

Salome sat down on the foot of the cot, and the abbess drew the stool and placed herself near.

Then Salome saw the lady-superior was even paler and graver than usual; and anxious as the young lady felt to hear the abbess’ story, she thought she would give her more time to recover, and even assist her in doing so, by diverting her thoughts to the new incident of the ring, which she produced and laid upon the mother’s lap, saying: 

“That was found by me in the bosom of little Marie Perdue’s dress.  It was donated to the house, for the benefit of the child.  Here is the scrap of writing in which it was rolled.”

The abbess silently took up the ring and the paper, and examined the first and read the last, saying: 

“Such mysterious donations to the children are not uncommon, and are generally supposed to be offered by the unknown parents.  This, however, is by far the most valuable present that has ever been made by any one to the institution, and must be worth at least a thousand Napoleons.  It was made by the visitors of this morning, I suppose?”

“Yes, madam, it was.”

“I see, I understand.  Take charge of it, my daughter, until we can deliver it to the sister-treasurer,” directed the lady-superior, as she replaced the ring in its wrapper and returned both to Salome.

“But, mother, I wish myself to become the purchaser of this ring.  I have a thousand pounds with me.  I will give them for the ring.”

“My daughter!” exclaimed the abbess in surprise.  “Why should you wish to possess this bauble?  It can be of no use to you in the life you are about to enter, even if the rules of our order would permit you to retain it, which you know they would not.”