What emotions, what dramas, what joys, must have had this parlour for a setting! It is there that the life of the cloister touches everyday existence; it is there the nuns receive their future companions in the religious life and their weeping families; it is there the parents of those in the convent infirmary come to hear from the doctor’s lips the decrees of life or death; for the convent is not only a retreat, it is an asylum for the sick, the ailing, recommended to their patients by the most eminent doctors, the most prominent surgeons.

Accustomed though he was to every kind of human misery, Fandor shuddered at the thought of all these walls had seen and heard. His reflections were broken by the arrival of a little old lady, whose eyes shone strangely luminous in her pale and wrinkled face – a face showing the highest distinction.

Fandor made a deep bow: it might have expressed the reverence of the world to religion.

“Madame la Supérieure,” he murmured, “I have come to pay my respects to you and to ask for news of your boarder.”

The Mother Superior, in a cheery tone, which contrasted with her cold and reserved appearance, replied at once: “Ah, you preferred to come yourself! You had not the patience to wait at the telephone – I quite understand.

Would you believe it; while the sister, who has charge of this young girl, was being sent for, the communication was cut off. That is why we could not give you any information.” Fandor stared.

“But I do not understand, madame?”

The Mother Superior replied:

“Was it not you then who telephoned this morning to ask for news of Mademoiselle Dollon?”

“I certainly did not do so!”

“In that case, I do not understand what it means, either... But it does not matter much: you shall see your protégée now.”

The Mother Superior rang: a sister appeared.

“Sister, will you take this gentleman to Mademoiselle Dollon? She was walking in the park a short while ago, and is probably there now... Monsieur, I bid you good day.”

Gliding swiftly and noiselessly over the polished floor, the Mother Superior disappeared. The nun led the way, and Fandor followed: he was very much upset by what the Mother Superior had just told him.

“How had Elizabeth’s place of refuge been so quickly discovered?.. who could have telephoned to get news of her?”

The nun had led Fandor across the great rectangular courtyard; then by corridors, and many winding, vaulted passages, they had come out onto a terrace, overlooking an immense park, which extended further than the eye could see. Here were leafy dells, ancient trees, bowers and groves, meadows where milky mothers chewed the cud in the shade of blossoming apple trees. It might have been in Normandy, a hundred leagues from Paris!

The nun turned to the admiring Fandor.