Frances, left alone, sank into the only available seat. She felt very tired.
She wondered whether Rosamund was already in the chapel, and wished that she had tried to explain the ceremonial of a prise d’habit to her sister. Then she derided herself for supposing that their brief moments of intercourse could have been spent thus. Besides, she remembered with relief, Lady Argent would have told Rosamund what to expect, and there were doubtless innumerable little paper booklets of an explanatory nature at the disposal of visitors.
She strove to concentrate her mind on higher thoughts, but only realized afresh, at the failure of the effort, her own excessive fatigue, part physical and part emotional.
Presently the stairs began to shake, and a creaking, ponderous sound of descent became audible.
Frances straightened herself, and reflected with dismay that she was entirely visible to anyone coming downstairs.
She closed her eyes and began to say the Rosary, trying in vain to fix her attention on the words she uttered mechanically.
The heavy footsteps became incredibly loud, and then paused in front of her.
“Now don’t,” said Mrs. Mulholland’s voice, “don’t let me disturb you, my dear. Don’t move—don’t stir—not one word, my dear, though, of course, there’s no actual rule of silence for you just now, to-day. If there were, I shouldn’t be speaking to you, that goes without saying. But we’re not in silence for a clothing.”
Frances, convinced that Mrs. Mulholland knew all the convent regulations at least as well as did the Superior herself, rose, smiling a little.
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Mulholland zealously, “that’s right. Now, there’s just one word I wanted to say—I’m not going to keep you one moment—not that they’re quite ready for you yet in the chapel. Mère Pauline isn’t in her place and won’t be, either, for a moment or two. She’s detained.”