Jean concluded her work at last, placed her needle in the cushion, and removed her thimble.
“At last!” she sighed. “I’ve been over this a whole week,” she added.
“Yes; you’ve been most patient,” declared her friend. “Soon you will abandon needlework and be sent out nursing. I heard the Mother Superior talking about it with Sister Lilian after vespers last night. Now that Sister Hannah has gone back to Paris we are one nurse short, and you are to take her place.”
“Am I?” cried Jean, with delight, for she had studied long and diligently in the hope that soon outside work would be given her. She was devoted to nursing, and had made herself proficient in most of the subjects.
“Yes. I believe you will hear something in the course of a few days. But,” added Sister Gertrude, “I know another secret. Your friend, the Mother Superior in Paris, is coming here, and ours has been transferred to Antwerp. The change will be announced, I expect, to-morrow.”
At this news Jean expressed the greatest satisfaction, for the grave, yet rather hard-faced, directress of the convent at Enghien had been so good and generous that she had become devotedly attached to her. Indeed, to her she owed her life, for in her despondent state on that morning when found in the Tuileries Gardens she had seriously contemplated throwing herself into the Seine.
Jean was therefore loud in praise of the directress from Enghien, and highly delighted at the thought of her coming to take over the direction of the English branch of the Order.
“Here is some paper and string to wrap up your work,” Sister Gertrude said at last, handing her an old copy of the Daily Telegraph. “I am taking it with me to Hammersmith this evening.”
And then she left the room, promising to return in a few minutes.