As Salome entered the cell, the abbess arose from her knees and signed for her visitor to be seated.
Salome sat down on the foot of the cot, and the abbess drew the stool and placed herself near.
Then Salome saw the lady-superior was even paler and graver than usual; and anxious as the young lady felt to hear the abbess' story, she thought she would give her more time to recover, and even assist her in doing so, by diverting her thoughts to the new incident of the ring, which she produced and laid upon the mother's lap, saying:
"That was found by me in the bosom of little Marie Perdue's dress. It was donated to the house, for the benefit of the child. Here is the scrap of writing in which it was rolled."
The abbess silently took up the ring and the paper, and examined the first and read the last, saying:
"Such mysterious donations to the children are not uncommon, and are generally supposed to be offered by the unknown parents. This, however, is by far the most valuable present that has ever been made by any one to the institution, and must be worth at least a thousand Napoleons. It was made by the visitors of this morning, I suppose?"
"Yes, madam, it was."
"I see, I understand. Take charge of it, my daughter, until we can deliver it to the sister-treasurer," directed the lady-superior, as she replaced the ring in its wrapper and returned both to Salome.
"But, mother, I wish myself to become the purchaser of this ring. I have a thousand pounds with me. I will give them for the ring."
"My daughter!" exclaimed the abbess in surprise. "Why should you wish to possess this bauble? It can be of no use to you in the life you are about to enter, even if the rules of our order would permit you to retain it, which you know they would not."