“The cab is here,” she whispered hoarsely; “and Mère Pauline and Mère Thérèse are in the hall. You’d better come, my dear.”
Frances bent her head, the crown of white roses still on her veil, and an instant later she rose, and left the chapel with Rosamund and Lady Argent.
The Superior herself had come to bid her guests farewell, and she spoke kindly to Rosamund, and said that she must come and pay her sister a visit again next year.
But Mère Thérèse drew Rosamund aside and gave her a little silver medal. “Comme souvenir de ce beau jour, de la part de Sœur Françoise Marie,” she said.
Rosamund thanked her, and Frances heard her ask the novice-mistress in strangled accents if her sister seemed really happy.
“Mais oui, mais oui. Voyez comme elle a bonne mine. La santé, c’est un signe de vocation,” asseverated Mère Thérèse.
“I am really happy—I am in the right place,” Frances said softly.
She was tense with the determination that no sign of distress at parting should add to Rosamund’s sense of loss.
The novice-mistress looked at both small, set faces, alike in spite of Frances’ coiffe and veil, and said approvingly:
“Voilà un sacrifice fait avec courage, n’est ce pas?”