Mrs. Severing’s recognition of Mère Pauline, however, did not appear likely to progress beyond this initial stage for some time after a very aged lay-sister in a black veil and habit had conducted the travellers into a large and plainly furnished parlour, and left them to await the Superior’s arrival.
“Can we have mistaken the date?” asked Nina, when a quarter of an hour had elapsed and their solitude still remained undisturbed.
“Perhaps she is very busy, if a lot of people are arriving to make the Retreat,” suggested Frances doubtfully.
They exchanged surmises at intervals for another ten minutes.
“Do open the door, Francie,” said Nina at last in annoyed accents. “That stupid old sister must have forgotten us.”
Frances rather unwillingly looked into the dark, narrow passage.
A couple of girls with black lace veils pinned over untidy hair, and falling incongruously across plaid blouses, were skirmishing and giggling at one end of the corridor. They broke off as Frances opened the door and at the same instant one of them exclaimed:
“Chut! Notre Mère!”
A very small, black-clad figure advanced through a further door, and Frances, hurriedly retreating, was in time to see the two girls make a sort of subdued dash towards her which the Superior put aside with a gentle but very decided little movement of the hand, and “Pas ici, mes enfants.”
The next moment she came into the parlour.