Then Lady Argent kissed Frances, with murmured blessings and endearments, and went down the steps to the waiting cab.
The Superior had already hastened away in obedience to another call.
Mère Thérèse embraced Rosamund, assured her that she would pray for her, and turned aside for a moment while the sisters exchanged their speechless farewell.
Frances stood on the steps, with the novice-mistress immediately behind her, and watched the cab move slowly away from the convent door, Rosamund still gazing at her from the window.
Both faces, tense and colourless, were smiling until the cab was lost to sight.
The novice-mistress looked at Frances kindly, but she did not say anything except:
“Go and put on your apron, Sister, and help Sœur Léonide in the refectory. She has been delayed and requires assistance.”
Frances went.
She made little acts of resignation in her own mind as she went, and said “Fiat voluntas tua,” but tears, such as she had not shed since the first strange days of her novitiate, were choking her, and fell thick and blinding as she donned her black apron and went into the refectory.
Old Sœur Léonide said “Pauvre chou!” when she saw her, and immediately stuck a pin into her sleeve in order to remind herself that she must do penance for having spoken unnecessarily.