“Mademoiselle, she has a vocation,” said Blanchette with awe; the candle shone back, doubled and reflected in those twin mirrors, from her eyes. The gravity on her face brought out all its sweetness--a little face, all alive with love, and hope, and reverential admiration, and faith. Helen felt her own passiveness all the more from the contrast. She felt half ashamed of her ignorance, and of standing, as she did, outside of all this world so full of life. “What is a vocation?” she said. “Does not mademoiselle know? A vocation is something one does not talk of carelessly, as we are talking; it is too sacred, when it is a true vocation. She would have been at the Sacré Cœur now, had not grandpapa been so----Figure to yourself, mademoiselle, that grandpapa is very violent against the Church. He hates even the good Sisters, who are so kind. When M. le Curé passes he spits on the ground. It is terrible,” cried Blanchette, with tears in her eyes, “to be so old and to be like that. If Baptiste draws a good number, he will not be able to refuse that we should marry,” she added very seriously, too grave for blushing, “and then perhaps my poor Ursule---- The holy mother will take her without _dot_, they have such faith in her; but she would not leave me alone with the grandfather. Provided only that Baptiste draws a good number!” the girl said, clasping her hands. “Surely, surely he will!” Helen said fervently. Little Blanchette shook her head. “If things would happen because we wish them to happen!” she said--and then she added, “Baptiste, perhaps, has been a little idle, mademoiselle; but all Latour wishes him well, and the ladies of the Sacré Cœur have promised to make a _neuvaine_ for us. They would do anything for Ursule’s sister. I wish I had a little more faith, mademoiselle,” she said, shaking her head once more.