"You are a sister?" asked No. 3. "But you do not live in a convent, do you?"
"Oh no, mademoiselle, I have never lived in a convent. I live by myself, and amongst my children."
"Your poor children?"
"My poor and my sick children, mademoiselle."
"You look very happy," said No. 3, gazing up into the wrinkled, beaming old face.
The old sister suddenly bent down, showing a large brass ring on her forefinger, on which was carved a crucifix.
"Look, mademoiselle," she exclaimed, kissing it reverently; "this is what makes me happy! Lui—c'est mon époux, mon ami, mon Dieu!"
It was time to return homewards; and as No. 3 got up, her new friend wrung both her hands affectionately.
"Tell me your name, mademoiselle," she said, "that I may know for whom to pray. And you, when you go to your Mass in England, you will remember old Catarina Rinaldi, will you not?"
And with a parting smile, the old woman moved off briskly, her face shining with the reflection of the spring brightness on the wayside, down which she passed.