In the sister, Salome recognized a lay nun of the Convent of St. Rosalie, in which she had passed nearly all the years of her young life, and in which she had received her education, and to which it had once been her cherished desire to return and dedicate herself to a conventual service. In Salome the nun saw again a once beloved pupil, whom she, in common with all her sisterhood, had fondly expected to welcome back to her novitiate. "Sister Josephine! You! Is it indeed you! Oh, how I thank Heaven!" fervently exclaimed the fugitive. "Mademoiselle Laiveesong! You here! My child! And alone! But how is that possible?" cried the good sister in amazement. Before Salome could answer the guard opened the door with a party of passengers at his back. But seeing the compartment already well filled by the three Sisters of Mercy and another lady, he closed the door again and passed down the platform to find places for his party elsewhere. The incident was little noticed by Salome at the time, although it was destined to have a serious effect upon her after fate. In a few minutes the train started. "My dear child," recommenced Sister Josephine, as soon as the train was well under way--"my dear child, how is it possible that I find you here, alone on the train at midnight! Were you going on to Paris, and alone? Was any one to meet you there?" "Dear, good Sister Josephine, ask me no questions yet. I am ill--really and truly ill!" sighed Salome. "Ah! I see you are, my dear child. Ill and alone on the night train! Holy Virgin preserve us!" said the sister, devoutly crossing herself. "Ask me no questions yet, dear sister, because I cannot answer them. But take me with you wherever you go, for wherever that may be, there will be peace and rest and safety, I know! Say, will you take me with you, good Sister Josephine?" pleaded Salome. "Ah! surely we will, my child. With much joy we will. We--(Sister Francoise and Sister Felecitie--Mademoiselle Laiveesong,)" said Sister Josephine, stopping to introduce her companions to each other. The three young persons thus named bowed and smiled, and pressed palms, and then sat back in their seats, while the elder Sister, Josephine, continued: "We have come up from Fontevrau, and are now going straight on to our convent. With joy we will take you with us, my dear child. Our holy mother will be transported to see you. Does she expect you, my dear child?" inquired the sister, forgetting her tacit promise to ask no more questions. "No, no one expects me," sighed the fugitive, in so faint a voice that the good Sister forbore to make any more inquiries for the moment. The train rushed onward. Day was broadening. The horizon was growing red in the east. The party travelled on in silence for some ten or fifteen minutes, and then, Sister Josephine growing impatient to have her curiosity satisfied, made a few leading remarks.