For a few minutes they stood there, watching the sad procession defiling at their feet, then Warner jumped down to the high, grassy bank, lifted Philippa to the ground—which was not necessary, although he seemed to think so, and the girl thanked him very sweetly—and then they went forward along the hedge of aubépine until, around the curve of the road just ahead, he caught sight of the school.
"We can enter by the rear and keep out of that crowd," he said to Philippa. "You don't know Sister Eila, do you?"
"No."
"Nor Sister Félicité?"
"No, Jim. Are they nuns?"
"Sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul. Here is the garden gate. We can go through the kitchen."
But before they had traversed the little vegetable garden, Sister Eila came to the kitchen door.
Warner said:
"Sister Eila, I am so glad that you are to know my friend, Mademoiselle Philippa Wildresse, who, as I am, is a guest of Madame de Moidrey at the Château."
Sister Eila came forward, her clear eyes on Philippa, took the girl's offered hand in both of hers, stood silent for a moment, then turned to Warner.