“There are many orders of nuns in Rome,” answered the Father, reflectively, “each with a particular aim and purpose. There are sisters who nurse the sick, and others who educate children. It seems to me that the order most suited in your case is that of the Sœurs Mauves. They lead very secluded lives, pray a great deal, and keep watch, night and day, over the Holy Sacrament. You can see them every day at Vespers in their Church of Santa Petronilla in the Via Gallia.” Trembling with emotion, Irene turned her steps towards this convent, half afraid of her own first impression. When she entered, the church was almost empty. A few stray old men and old women were dreaming on chairs, waiting for the service. Like most modern Roman churches, Santa Petronilla was ablaze with gilding and profusely decorated with pictures. On either side, up above, were galleries of quite theatrical appearance, painted mauve and white, the colours of the convent. A transparent, high, carved partition divided the church into two parts: the one nearest the entrance for the public, the other, nearest the altar, for the nuns. At present, all was dark and empty, only one feeble taper was burning on the altar. Irene took a seat in the first row, quite close to the partition, and prepared to contemplate her future surroundings. It was a long time before the silence was broken by the slow, dull sound of the church bells. The altar was suddenly brightly illuminated, and a procession of nuns appeared through the door. They entered in couples, knelt for a moment, one couple at a time, before the altar, and then slowly, gracefully, with soundless footsteps, made their way to their places. They were dressed in white robes with long trains, and wide mauve borders. White veils hid their faces, and fell at the back in graceful folds over their trains. These veils were so thick, that it was impossible to distinguish the ages of their wearers. With soft white hands, the nuns clasped the golden crosses on their breasts, as they slowly sank into their places, threw back their veils, and, directing their gaze to the altar, remained immovable in the most graceful of poses. Somewhere in the distance an organ began to play, and an invisible choir sang a prayer, or, rather, a beautiful Italian operatic air.