He had heard of the death of a woman whom he had tenderly loved. Years ago, before he entered the army, they had been sweethearts. Then they had drifted apart; and now he had discovered, quite accidentally, that she had died but two days ago, homeless, friendless. And yet not entirely that. Her last moments had been tended by Sister Anne, a religieuse, and it was to see her that Jack was waiting outside the Chapelle.
Presently, the hour of nine was chimed from the surrounding belfries. Almost simultaneously, the door of the Chapelle was opened, and the religieuse came out.
"Pardon me," said Jack, approaching her, hat in hand; "but am I speaking to Sister Anne?"
"'AM I SPEAKING TO SISTER ANNE?'"
"Yes, my son."
"You are the lady, are you not, who so charitably befriended Mdlle. Denton?"
"I but did my duty, my son."
"Ah, if all the world would but interpret duty in the same way! I am an old friend of Mdlle. Denton's, and it was only by chance I heard of her death. Could you let me see her before—before——"
Jack's voice faltered. He did not complete the sentence.