On the other side a young Sister was kneeling at a prie-Dieu, telling her rosary.  Sister Gabrielle knelt down on the ground beside her.  I longed to do something to lessen that grief, and help the poor woman a little.  She must have come there in a state of destitution:  her clothes revealed her poverty.  But I durst not disturb either her mourning or their prayers, and I came out quietly on tiptoe.

Outside, the rain, which was now falling heavily, refreshed my fevered head somewhat.  I crossed the courtyard quickly; but my candle went out, and I had some trouble in relighting it, which was very necessary, as I had to find my way in a maze of doors and passages.  At last I reached my staircase, and passed the landing and the Sisters’ chapel.  I heard a distant clock strike midnight, went up another storey, and opened our door noiselessly.  I thought that B. would perhaps be waiting for me impatiently, anxious to learn the reason of all the noise.

But B. was snoring with the bed-clothes over his ears.

At six o’clock some one knocked at our door, and I opened my eyes.  Daylight showed faintly through the only window.  I wondered where I was, and suddenly remembered ...  Elverdinghe ... the convent....

“Is it you, Sister Gabrielle?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, it’s I. Get up.  I have been knocking for more than an hour.”

B. sat up in his bed.  I did the same, and told him what I had seen the evening before.  He shook his head mournfully, and concluded: 

“Well, ... it’s war....  I hope they’ll have a good breakfast ready for us.”

We hurried through our dressing and ablutions, for we had to get back quickly to our quarters.  As we came out of our room, lively and refreshed, we met Sister Gabrielle, who seemed to have been waiting for us.  She asked us how we had slept, and, to stop the flood of eloquence that B. was on the point of letting loose, she said: 

“That’s right.  You shall thank me later on.  Come down now; your breakfast is waiting for you.  It will get cold.”

But, on passing the chapel, B. would insist on seeing it.  Sister Gabrielle hesitated a moment, and then gave way, as you would to a child for the sake of peace.  She opened the outer door, and smiled indulgently, as if anxious to humour all our whims.  We passed through an anteroom, and then entered the chapel.  It was quite small, only large enough to hold about twenty people.  The walls were white, without any ornament, and panelled up to about the height of a man.  The altar was extremely simple, and decorated with a few flowers.  Some rush chairs completed the plenishings of the sanctuary where the good Sisters of Elverdinghe assembled every morning at four o’clock for prayers.

And, as we came out of this humble chapel, I noticed two mattresses, laid in a corner of the little anteroom.

“Who sleeps here, then, Sister?” I asked.

Sister Gabrielle turned as red as a poppy.  I had to repeat my question twice, when, lowering her eyes, she answered: