“Go, then, Mere Pauline, if you are sufficiently rested.  Keep me advised of the state of your patient, but do not tax your aged limbs to climb these stairs again.  Send one of the younger nuns, and give yourself some rest,” said the abbess, kindly.

“Helas! holy mother, I shall have time enough to rest in the grave, whither I am fast tending,” sighed the old nun, as she withdrew from the room.

“Oh, mother!” joyfully exclaimed Salome, as soon as they were left alone, “he comes by the midday express!  It is midday now!  The train has already left Paris!  He is speeding toward us, even now, as fast as steam can bring him.  I can almost see and hear and feel him coming!”

“Calm your transports, dear daughter; think of the dying sinner so near us, even now,” gravely replied the elder lady.

“I can think of nothing but my living husband,” exclaimed the young wife.

“Oh, these young hearts! these young hearts!  ’From all inordinate and sinful affections, good Lord, deliver us!’” prayed the abbess.

She had scarcely spoken, when the door opened and Sister Francoise entered the room.

“I came with a message from the portress, good mother.  She says that a young woman has come from L’Ange, who claims to be the wife of the wounded man, and insists upon being admitted to see him.  The portress does not know what to do, and has sent me to you for instructions,” said Sister Francoise.

“The wounded man is sleeping and must not be awakened.  Tell the portress to keep the young woman in the parlor until she can be permitted to see the patient, then do you go to the Old Men’s Home, inquire for Monsieur le Doctor Dubourg, and announce to him the arrival of this woman, and let him use his medical discretion about admitting her.  Go.”

“Yes, holy mother,” said Sister Francoise, retreating.

“You have not had a moment’s peace since this unhappy man has been in the house,” said Salome, compassionately.

“No,” smiled the lady.  “Of course not, but it cannot be helped.  We must bear one another’s burdens.”

The loud ringing of the dinner-bell arrested the conversation.

“Come, we will go down,” said the abbess, rising.

They descended to the refectory.

The long hall, that had been the scene of so much horror and confusion in the morning, was now restored to its normal condition.

The plain, frugal, midday meal of the abbess and the elder nuns was arranged with pure cleanliness upon the table, where, but a few hours before, the body of the wounded man had lain.  But the awful event of the morning had taken a deep effect upon the quiet and sensitive sisterhood.  They sat down at the table, but scarcely touched the food.

When the form of dining—­for it was little more than a form that day—­was over, the abbess and her nuns arose, and separated about their several vocations.