"Much happier, Monseigneur," she said, "for now I may pray for him!"
Monseigneur, who had retained the ring, shut the hiding-place with a decided click, snapped into its slot the end of the bar that held the magpie pearl in place, and said as he restored the bauble to the nun:
"Who knows but that some ray of Divine Grace may yet shine upon that darkened soul! Do as the owner begged of you, and pray for him by all means!"
"That I will!" she said fervently. "And you also, will you not pray for him? the poor, proud Pagan who believed no resurrection possible—unless one were to exist again as a vapour or a tree. Alas! I fear I have sinned much in yielding to the feeling he inspired in me!"
She added, meeting the keen glance of Monseigneur's vivid eyes:
"The feeling of repugnance. Of horror, Monseigneur! Here comes the Bavarian to finish the inscription. Well, my good Kühler, you have got some more ceruse?"
The glass-doors had been darkened by the shape of a one-legged man on crutches, a black-haired, swarthy fellow dressed in the maroon flannel uniform distinctive of the Hospital. A little pot with a brush in it dangled from one of his big fingers. He glanced up under his heavy brows, with a muttered word as he passed the Sister, and returned the greeting of Monseigneur with a clumsy attempt at a salute.
"You are better? You are getting on?" said Monseigneur to him in German.
"Better, mein Vater, and getting on."
"That is well! And you have only a little bit to do, and then your work is done?"