"They're always a beggin', Miss Alice," said my maid. "There was three men with papers yesterday, and now come these flipflappers."
The "flipflappers" were two Sisters of Charity. One of them, the youngest, with large, loving, dark eyes, and one of the finest faces I ever saw, won me at sight. She was soliciting money she said for an Old Folks' Home. "You are not an American," I said.
"Oh, no; I am only five months from Paris. This is my sister, who can talk only French."
An hour passed during which I had told all about my St. Sulpice child.
The women looked at each other.
"It seems like Marie," said one.
"It certainly does seem like Marie," responded the other.
"And who was Marie?"
"Marie was with a wood-carver. Marie's mamma was an Englishwoman. Her husband brought her to Paris. They both died when Marie was a little one. Marie used to sing, and she lived in rue St. Père."
"It must be my St. Sulpice girl!" I said, excitedly.