many times, but
to-day the stiff black chairs, the dismal crucifixes, the gleaming
whiteness of the walls, even the cheap lithograph of the Madonna which
Camille had always regarded as a perfect specimen of art, seemed cold
and mean.

"Camille, ma chere," said Mother, "I am extremely displeased with you.
Why did you not wish to go with Monsieur and Madame Lafaye yesterday?"

The girl uncrossed her hands from her bosom, and spread them out in a
deprecating gesture.

"Mais, ma mere, I was afraid."

Mother's face grew stern. "No foolishness now," she exclaimed.

"It is not foolishness, ma mere; I could not help it, but that man
looked at me so funny, I felt all cold chills down my back. Oh, dear
Mother, I love the convent and the sisters so, I just want to stay and
be a sister too, may I?"

And thus it was that Camille took the white veil at sixteen years. Now
that the period of novitiate was over, it was just beginning to dawn
upon her that she had made a mistake.

"Maybe it would have been better had I gone with the funny-looking lady
and gentleman," she mused bitterly one night. "Oh, Seigneur, I 'm so
tired and impatient; it's so dull here, and, dear God, I'm so young."

There was no help for it. One must arise in the morning, and help in
the refectory with the stupid Sister Francesca, and go about one's
duties with a prayerful mien, and not even let a sigh escape when one's
head ached with the eternal telling of beads.

A great fete day was coming, and an atmosphere of preparation and mild
excitement pervaded the brown walls of the convent like a delicate
aroma. The old Cathedral around the corner had stood a hundred years,
and all the city was rising to do honour to its age and time-softened
beauty. There would be a service, oh, but such a one! with two
Cardinals, and Archbishops and Bishops, and all the accompanying
glitter of soldiers and orchestras. The little sisters of the Convent
du Sacre Coeur clasped their hands in anticipation of the holy joy.
Sister Josepha curled her lip, she was so tired of churchly pleasures.

The day came, a gold and blue spring day, when the air hung heavy with
the scent of roses and magnolias, and the sunbeams fairly laughed as
they kissed the houses. The old Cathedral stood gray and solemn, and
the flowers in Jackson Square smiled cheery birthday greetings across
the way. The crowd around the door surged and pressed and pushed in
its eagerness to get within. Ri