"Hush!" said Lucille. "Don't speak so loud; nobody knows who may be listening. I hate living so—in such constraint and danger all the time. It is odious." "Don't let us talk about it any more," said I. "I have some news for you. My cousin, Andrew Corbet, from England, is coming to visit us. Will it not seem odd to have a cousin?" "Not to me," said Lucille, making an effort to throw off her moodiness. "I have a plenty of them, you know. When do you expect him?" "Next week, perhaps; the time is not set." "What is he like?" "I don't know; I have never seen him. He is about twenty years old, and has been educated at a great college in England, so I suppose he is like other young gentlemen. Come, let us eat some of Mrs. Grace's cakes and bonbons, and then I will show you my new stitch. Grace gave me a nice basket, because she said we might like to make a little feast under the trees." Lucille had something too—a bottle of milk and some wheaten bread which she had set out to carry to Gran'mère Luchon, when she heard of the misfortune which had befallen the poor woman. We grew quite merry over our little feast, and the lesson in needlework went on prosperously afterward. "You have caught it beautifully," said I. "Mrs. Grace would say that you excelled your pattern. But what are you looking at?" For Lucille had dropped her work and was gazing intently in the direction of Avranches. I turned my eyes the same way and beheld a procession coming up the road—of what sort I could not at first discover. There was a cross-bearer and two or three banners; then a sight dreaded by every Huguenot child in France—the Host carried under a fine canopy—and then came a dozen or so of donkeys, each led by a man and bearing a woman dressed in black, with a white scapular and long black veil. "They are the nuns coming to take possession of the hospital," said Lucille. "It has been all repaired and fitted up anew, and they are to have a school and teach lace-making and embroidery." "Lucille, what do you mean?" I exclaimed; for she had risen and stepped to the edge of the rock to have a better view. "They will see you. Come down here behind the bushes till they are past." Lucille obeyed rather unwillingly, as I thought. We peeped through the bushes as the procession advanced, and had a good view of the nuns. There were ten of them, riding with eyes cast down and hands folded in their large sleeves. One or two of them were very pretty, and all had a ladylike look. Last came the two little grandchildren of poor Mère Luchon. The youngest, a mere baby, was sucking a lump of gingerbread, apparently quite content; but the sobs and tear-stained face of the other told a different story. She was seven years old, and was already a great help and comfort to the old woman. As she passed, she raised her streaming eyes as if imploring pity.