Then she turned and slowly followed the Superior and Mère Thérèse into the little adjoining Sacristy where Sœur Eugénie was waiting to divest her of her white satin dress and lace veil, and help her into the garb which would henceforth be hers for life.
The white Cross, distinguishing mark of the Order, gleamed upon her breast now.
She lifted the linen coiffe, ingeniously pinned together, that bound her head under the veil, but Sœur Eugénie, laughing a little, pointed to her late handiwork, still erect upon the head of the novice.
“Allons,” said Mère Thérèse, and began to take out hairpins, careful to let none fall on the floor, where it might possibly be overlooked or swept away.
Then the lay-sister put a dustsheet over Frances’ shoulders and quickly cropped off the lengths of her brown hair.
The feeling of coolness and comfort was pleasant when the veil was again put on her head, but Frances gave one curious fleeting pang to the memory of that soft mass, lying strewn about the dustsheet.
The little Superior, who had been busying herself with the white artificial wreath of roses that lay ready, turned round.
“Sister Frances Mary”—she greeted the novice by her new name—“God bless you, my dear daughter.”
Frances knelt for a moment to receive her Superior’s embrace, and then turned to Mère Thérèse.
“Et maintenant,” said that practical woman, as ever consecrating the briefest possible time to emotion, however permissible,—“le baiser le paix aux sœurs.”