Up and down the winding path settlers, soldiers, merchants, trappers and Indians straggled, with an occasional seigneur lending to the scene the pomp of a vanished Court.  Far away the priest could see a hawk, circling and circling in the summer sky.  Now and then a dove flashed by, and a golden bumblebee blundered into the chamber.

“I will fetch Sister Benie,” Brother Jacques said at length.  He dreaded to remain with this fierce-eyed old man from whom nothing seemed hidden, not even secret thought.  “She is an excellent nurse.”

“She will please me better than Monsieur le Comte.”

The title stirred Brother Jacques strangely.

“But give her to understand,” added the marquis, “that I want no canting Loyola.  Who is this Sister Benie?”

“She is of the Ursulines.”

“No, no; I mean, what does she look like and of what family.”

“I have never studied her visual beauty,” coldly.  Brother Jacques was anxious to be gone.

“I have known priests who were otherwise inclined.  I suppose you can see her soul.  That is interesting.”

“I will go at once in quest of her;” and Brother Jacques went forth.

The marquis turned a cheek to his pillow.  “Jehan!”

“Yes, Monsieur,” answered the old lackey from his corner.

“I do not like that young priest.  He is all eyes; and he makes me cold.”

Brother Jacques meanwhile found Sister Benie in one of the Indian schoolrooms.

“Sister, are you too busy to attend the wants of a sick man?”

“Who is the sick man, my son?”

“Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny.”

“He is very ill?” laying down her hooks.

“He can not leave his bed.  He wishes some one to read to him.  I would gladly do it, only I should not have the quieting effect.”

The blue eyes of the nun had a range that was far away.  Brother Jacques eyed her curiously.

“I will go,” she said presently.  “Is not the Chevalier du Cevennes the marquis’s son?”

“He is.”

“And is Monsieur le Marquis of a patient mind?”

“I confess that he is not.  That is why it is difficult for me to wait upon his wants.  He is a disappointed man; and being without faith, he is without patience.  However, if you are too busy . . .”

“Lead me to him, my son,” quietly.

Thus it was that the marquis, waking from the light sleep into which he had fallen after Brother Jacques’s departure, espied a nun sitting in a chair by the window facing south, the shutters of which had been thrown wide open again.  The room was warm with sunshine.  The nun was not aware that Jehan sat in a darkened corner, watching her slightest move, nor that the marquis had awakened.  She was dreaming with unclosed eyes, the expression on her face one of repose.  The face which the marquis saw had at one time been very beautiful.  Presently the marquis’s scrutiny became a stare. . . .  That scar; what did it recall to his wandering mind?  A fit of trembling seized him and took the strength from his propping arm.  The creaking of the bed aroused her.