"She has not a sou--you may depend upon it," said Soeur Ursule emphatically; "she brought nothing with her when she came." "Nothing!" cried Soeur Lucie. "Or so little, that it must all be gone by this time. I really do not see how it can be arranged--Soeurs Marie and Catherine settled it with our late sainted Superior, and I think even they are beginning to repent a little, for they were talking only this morning of all the expense we have had lately." "Poor child," murmured Soeur Lucie, who had no unkindly feelings towards her little charge, "there is surely enough for one more." "That is all very well, _ma Soeur_, but an extra person is an extra person, as we all know. We might keep the child for a time out of charity, but when there is a question of her taking the vows, and living here always, it is another matter altogether. It has not been the custom in our house to receive sisters without _dots_, and it will never do--never; but of course our sainted mother knew best, and my opinion was not asked, though it might have been as well worth having as that of some others." "Poor child," said good little Soeur Lucie again, looking towards the bed; "and she has improved very much lately, don't you think so, _ma Soeur?_" "Oh, yes, she has improved, no doubt; it would be astonishing if she had not, after being here more than two years; but that is not the question. However, I must be going," she added, "I have a hundred things to do before vespers. And the border for that altar-cloth will be ready by the end of the month, you think?" "I hope so," answered Soeur Lucie. "Madelon shall help me as soon as she is strong enough again; she can embroider quite nicely now." "So much the better; she will have to do plenty by-and-by, and make herself useful if she is to stay here." Soeur Ursule left the room as she spoke, and Soeur Lucie, with her knitting in her lap, sat meditating in the darkness. Presently a restless movement in the bed roused her. "Are you awake, Madelon?" she said softly. No answer, only another toss, and a sort of long sigh. Soeur Lucie rose, lighted a candle, measured out some medicine, and then with the glass in one hand, and the light in the other, she came to the bedside. Madelon was lying with her back towards her, her arms flung over her head, her face buried in the pillow. She did not move, and Soeur Lucie touched her gently. "It is time to take your medicine, mon enfant," she said. Madelon turned round then, and taking the glass, drank off the contents without a word; as she gave it back to the nun, something in her face or expression, fairly startled the little sister. "Why, whatever is the matter, _mon enfant?_" she cried, "you must have been dreaming, I think." "No, I have not been dreaming," answered Madelon; and then, as the nun turned away to put the glass and candle on the table, she caught hold of her gown with all the strength of which her feeble fingers were capable.