Of the fifty years of this lady's life, forty had been spent in the convent where she had lived as pupil, novice, nun and abbess. Her cloistered life had been passed in active good works, if nurturing infancy, educating orphans, cheering age, and ordering and governing an excellent academy for young ladies, can be called so.
And whatever such a life may have brought to others, it brought to this princess of the banished Orleans family perfect peace.
She stood now looking down with infinite pity on the stricken form and face of her late pupil. She saw that some heavy blow from sorrow had crushed her. And she did not wonder at this.
For to the apprehension of the abbess, the world from which her late pupil had returned was full of tribulation, as the convent was full of peace.
She stood looking down on her a moment, and then murmured, in tones of ineffable tenderness:
"My child!"
"Mother Genevieve! My dear mother!" answered Salome, clasping her hands and looking up.
The abbess drew a chair to the side of the cot, sat down, and took the hand of her pupil, saying:
"You have come back to us, my child. I thought you would. You are most welcome."
"Oh, mother! mother! I am driven back to you for shelter from a storm of trouble!" exclaimed Salome, in great excitement, her cheeks burning, and her eyes blazing with the fires of fever.