“And the Indian and the dog?” said Michel.
“Keep them at the lodge,” said the Reverend Mother. The man went out. The Mother rang a small bell beside her, which was answered by a serving sister.
“Go to Sister Marie Mercèdes’ cell, and tell her to come here without delay,” she said. As the sister went out, a tall figure wrapped in a thick cloak with a hood drawn over her head entered, and with her a large wolf-hound, which she held by its collar.
“It was no use, Reverend Mother; he would have torn me to pieces rather than leave her,” said Michel.
“He knows I have only him to protect me,” said a gentle voice. “Indeed, he is quite harmless as long as no one lays hands on me. Lie down, Bob,” and, obedient to her word, the animal stretched himself at her feet.
“My child,” said the Reverend Mother, “you have asked to see Mercèdes Montcalm. She bade adieu to the world this morning; she is dead to all things earthly.”
“Dead,” repeated Loïs slowly; “it seems to me that every one is dead.”
“Dead to the world, I said,” continued the Superior. “There is no Mercèdes Montcalm, only Sister Marie Mercèdes. What do you want with her, my child? You look very weary; sit down,” and she pointed to a chair.
“I have come many hundred miles,” said Loïs, “in search of my brother and my brother’s child. He sent me word that he had placed the boy here with Mercèdes Montcalm.”
“So he did,” answered the Reverend Mother.