posed and serious young woman, sat trembling and blushing as any other foolish girl might have done. When the grave gray-eyed Sister Gabrielle swept into her presence, stately and imposing in her serge frock as she had been in her state robes when she presided over one of the great houses of the Faubourg St. Germain, Margaret's courage gave out entirely, and she faltered: "I came to ask about—Dr. Rondelet has often spoken to me of you. I—I am Miss Ruysdale. I brought some broth, and I want to know how Mr. Feuardent is."
"Mademoiselle Risdelle? Ah, yes." The dignity had melted from Sister Gabrielle's face; there was only a tender kindliness now. "Ah, I know you vare well, mademoiselle. I have to thank you on account of many, many gracious gifts at my patients,"—she spoke English with apparent effort. "But you spik French, don't it? Enfin, c'est mieux;" and relapsing into her mother tongue, she made Margaret heartily welcome to the hospital, and gave her a full and satisfactory account of the patient's condition.
"He is asleep now," said the sister as Margaret rose to go. "Would you not like to look into the room and to see how comfortable he is?"
Margaret bowed. She could not speak, but followed the sister down the wide cool passage to an open door.
