But Frances knew that for a prise d’habit the double doors at the end of the chapel would be opened, and that she must pass up the narrow aisle thronged on either side by visitors, and through the light oaken framework of screen behind which stood the harmonium and the small choir of nuns and novices, and up to the steps of the Sanctuary.
Rosamund and Lady Argent would be each provided with a prie-dieu just in front of the railings, where they could see and hear to the best possible advantage.
“Wait here,” whispered Mère Thérèse, well versed in every corner of the intricate and inconveniently built house.
She beckoned Frances into a small angular nook that served as a little lobby, between the main entrance to the chapel and the narrow staircase leading to the wing of the house reserved for the lady boarders.
“No one will disturb you. The ladies are all in the chapel already. Father Anselm has just arrived. You are quite ready?”
“Yes,” said Frances gently.
Mère Thérèse, grown strangely materialistic, all the practical Frenchwoman in her to the fore, arranged the modest train where it would be least crushed, and put back the veil that Frances had kept down.
“Vous étoufferiez!” she remarked matter-of-factly. Then she smoothed back the hair already strained away from Frances’ temples, said “Voilà!” in tones of satisfaction, and prepared to leave the novice alone.
Her parting instructions were:
“I will myself be awaiting you at the chapel doors when you hear the first notes of the Ave Maris Stella. Do not forget to put your veil down and walk slowly.”