The door shut automatically upon Fandor. He was in the little inner court of the small convent, face to face with a Sister, who gazed in alarm at the unexpected guest. The journalist persisted: "Can I see the Mother Superior?" "Well, sir, yes--no, I think not." The worthy nun evidently did not know what to say. Finally making up her mind she pointed to a passage, and, drawing aside to let the journalist pass, said: "Be good enough to go in there and wait a few moments." Fandor was ushered into a large, plain and austere room--doubtless the parlour of the community. At the windows hung long, white curtains, while before the half-dozen armchairs lay tiny rugs of matting; the floor, very waxed, was slippery to the tread. The journalist regarded curiously the walls upon which were hung here and there religious figures or chromos of an edifying kind. Above the chimney hung a great crucifix of ebony. But for the noise from without, the passing of the trains and motors, and were it not also for the fine savour of cooking and roast onions, one might have thought oneself a hundred leagues from the world in the peaceful calm of this little convent. Fandor, on leaving Bonardin, had decided to fulfill without delay a pious mission given him by Juve's victim. Taken in at the time of his accident by the Sisters of the Rue Charmille, Bonardin had received from them the first aid his condition required, and as he had left them without a word of thanks, he had begged Fandor to return and hand them on his behalf a fifty-franc bill for their poor. After some minutes the door opened and a nun appeared. She greeted Fandor with a slight movement of the head; while the journalist bowed deferentially before her. "Have I the honour of speaking to the Mother Superior?" "Our Mother sends her excuses," murmured the nun, "for not being able to receive you at this moment. However, I can take her place, sir. I am in charge of the finances of the house." "I bring you news, Sister." The nun clasped her hands. "Good news, I hope! How is the poor young man doing?" "As well as can be expected; the ball was extracted without trouble by the doctors." "I shall thank St. Comus, the patron saint of surgeons. And his assailant? Surely he will be well punished?" Fandor smiled. "His assailant was the victim of a terrible misconception. He is a most upright man." "Then I will pray to St. Yves, the patron saint of advocates, to get him out of his difficulty." "Well," cried Fandor, "since you have so many saints at command, Sister, you would do well to point out to me one who might favour the efforts of the police in their struggle with the ruffians." The nun was a woman of sense who understood a joke. She rejoined: "You might try St. George, sir, the patron saint of warriors." Then becoming serious again, the Sister made an end of the interview. "Our Mother Superior will be much touched, sir, when I report the kind step you have taken in coming here to us."