She left, palpitating with anxiety. She found Julia alone in her room, trying on before a mirror her novice's dress; the vail that was to conceal her luxuriant hair was laid upon the bed; she was simply dressed in a long, white woolen tunic, whose folds she was engaged in adjusting. She blushed when she saw her mother come in; then with an insipient laugh: "Cymodocea in the circus, isn't it, mother?" Clotilde made no answer; she had joined her hands in a supplicating attitude, and wept as she looked at her. Julia was moved by that mute sorrow; two tears rolled from her eyes, and she threw her arms around her mother's neck; then, taking a seat by her side: "What can I do?" she said; "I, too, feel some regret at heart, for, after all, I was fond of life; but aside from my vocation, which I believe quite real, I am yielding to a positive necessity. There is no other existence possible for me but that one. I know very well--it's my own fault; I have been somewhat foolish--I should not have left you in the first place, or at least, I should have returned to your house immediately after your marriage. Now, after months, and even years, is it possible, I ask you? In the first place, I would die with shame. Can you imagine me in the presence of your husband? What sort of countenance could I put on? And then, he must fairly detest me, the bent must be firmly taken in his mind. Finally, I should be in all respects terribly in your way!" "But, my dear child, no one hates you; you would be received with transports of joy, like the prodigal child. If you deem it too painful to return to my home--if you fear to find or to bring trouble there with you--God knows how mistaken you are on this point! but still, if you do fear it, is that a reason why you should bury yourself alive and break my heart? Could you not return into the world without returning to my own house, and without having to face all those difficulties that frighten you? There would be a very simple way of doing that, you know!" "What is it?" said Julia quietly; "to marry?" "Undoubtedly," said Clotilde, shaking her head gently and lowering her voice. "But, mon Dieu! mother, what possible chance is there of such a thing? Suppose I were willing--and I am far from it--I know no one, no one knows me." "There is some one," rejoined Clotilde, with increasing timidity; "some one whom you know perfectly well, and who--who adores you." Julia opened her eyes wide with a pensive and surprised expression, and after a brief pause of reflection: "Pierre?" she said. "Yes," murmured Clotilde, pale with anxiety. Julia's eyebrows became slightly contracted; she raised her head and remained for a few seconds with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling; then, with a slight shrug of her shoulders: "Why not?" she said gravely. "I would as soon have him as any one else!" Clotilde uttered a feeble cry, and grasping both her daughter's hands: