THE AMERICAN
ber of the invisible sisterhood; the chant, at any rate, kept on, mechanical and monotonous, with dismal repetitions and despairing cadences. It was hideous, it was horrible; as it continued he felt he needed all his self-control. He was growing more agitated, the tears were hot in his eyes. At last, as in its full force the thought came over him that this confused, impersonal wail was all that he or the world she had deserted were ever again to hear of the breath of those lips of which his own held still the pressure, he knew he could bear it no longer. He rose abruptly and made his way out. On the threshold he paused, listened again to the dreary strain, and then hastily descended into the court. As he did so he saw that the good sister with the high-coloured cheeks and the fan-like frill to her head-dress, who had admitted him, was in conference at the gate with two persons who had just come in. A second glance showed him that these visitors were Madame de Bellegarde and her son, and that they were about to avail themselves of that method of approach to their lost victim which he had found but a mockery of consolation. As he crossed the court the Marquis recognised him; he was on the way to the steps and was supporting his mother. From Madame de Bellegarde he also received a look, and it resembled that of Urbain. Both faces expressed a less guarded perturbation, something more akin to immediate dismay, than Newman had yet seen in them. Evidently he was disconcerting, and neither mother nor son had quite due presence of mind. Newman hurried past them, guided only by the desire to get out of the convent walls and into
481
