for charitable purposes.

And the big bell having clanged out for tea in the refectory, Jean and
Sister Gertrude passed arm-in-arm through the long stone corridor to the
big, vaulted hall, where all the inmates of the convent had assembled
and the Mother Superior was presiding over the four shining tea-urns at
the top table.

But Jean sat silent and thoughtfully sipping her tea, heedless of all
about her.

Her mind was full of that terse announcement which she had read, the
obituary notice of the notorious thief known in Paris as "The
American"--the man whom she loved and who was her husband.

She was thinking, too, of _Fil-en-Quatre_, the shock-headed, rather
uncouth Parisian loafer--the man who had been sentenced to seven years'
hard labour. That meant Cayenne, without a doubt--drudgery at Devil's
Island, that ill-governed penal settlement established by the Republic
of France.

She remembered him. Ah, how often he had sympathised with her! How
frequently he had uttered cheering words to her in secret, although he
had never once betrayed his friend's real profession, nor had he ever
once spoken of the great and fervent affection which he had borne her.

Though he was a thief, a scoundrel of the underworld of Paris,
ingenious, unscrupulous, and even dangerous if cornered, he was
nevertheless loyal and honest towards his friend, and behaved as a
gentleman towards his friend's wife.

Yes, Adolphe Carlier, though a thief, was still a gentleman in the true
sense of the word.

The weeks went by, and poor Jean, a widow in secret--for she told no one
of what had occurred--was sent forth daily in the poorer districts of
London on her mission to the sick, to whom she carried food and
delicacies prepared by the kind hands of the sisters.

The slums she visited in Clerkenwell and other places often reminded her
of those last few days of her married life, those days before she parted
for ever from "Le Costaud." Where men feared to venture, and where no
police-constable cared to go alone, she went without fear, down into the
deepest depths of the unknown underworld of London, and through months
she worked hard each day amid the most sordid and poverty-stricken
surroundings, returning each night to the convent fagged and hungry. But
now that she knew the bitter truth, her whole life was devoted to her
work of mercy and to her religious duties. Her sweetness of disposition,
her calm patience, her soft voice, and her chee