At that moment the door opened, and Loïs saw the small, darkly-clad figure of a young nun enter. The face was very pale; the eyes had a strained look in them, and were bright as if with fever.
“Come hither, my daughter,” said the Reverend Mother. “I grieve to have disturbed you at your devotions, but here is one who has come from afar to fetch Charles Langlade’s little child. Will you tell her what you know concerning it, so that she may be satisfied?”
“Are you Loïs Langlade?” said Sister Marie, in a low voice.
“Yes,” said Loïs; “tell me, where is the child?”
“Why have you come to me instead of going to your brother? He would have told you, and spared me the pain. Forgive me, Reverend Mother; it is still pain,” said Sister Marie, bowing her head.
“My brother!” said Loïs, rising quickly, and with such a ring of joy in her voice,—“he is alive then, and you have seen him. Oh, tell me where to find him!” and taking the nun’s hand, she pressed it to her lips.
Sister Marie shivered slightly; she had not had time yet to forget. The Reverend Mother answered for her.
“He is alive, my child; but where he lodges we do not know, only there is one who does. We will enquire to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Loïs. “Oh, Reverend Mother, I have waited so many to-morrows! I am not weary; let me go to him to-night. And the child?”
“Is at rest; him you cannot find,” said Sister Marie Mercèdes. “But your brother is in Quebec,” she continued. “Madame Péan, in the Rue St. Louis, will tell you where to find him. You must go to her to-night; to-morrow she leaves Quebec.”