In one or two of the smaller churches there were only silent kneeling figures here and there, and the two women walked about, looking at the mixture of dignified antiquity and tawdry decoration on every side, and reading the tablets all about the approach to the chancel, erected as thank-offerings to Mary and Joseph for favors granted. In spite of her inward perturbation, Sonia could not help smiling at the economy of words on some of these. One or two had merely, “Merci, Joseph,” or “Merci, Marie et Joseph,” while the more elaborate ones recorded the thanks of the giver of the tablet for a favor received--the restoration of a beloved child from illness, the conversion of an erring son, the rescue of a husband from shipwreck, and even the miraculous intervention of Mary and Joseph to restore to health a little boy who had been gored by a bull. The very ignorance of it was touching to the two women, and the conviction that it was in each of these poor hearts a reaching upward kept them from feeling any scorn. As they returned to their carriage, Martha, who during the recent scene had been furtively watching her friend’s face, now saw upon it an expression which she was at a loss to account for. Was it, she wondered, religious devotion, stirred by the associations of the church, which made the lovely face beside her look so passionately tense with feeling? For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what her friend’s religion was. “Are you a Catholic, Sonia?” she said. The answer came impulsively: “No, I am not a Catholic. It is easier to say what I am not than what I am--except that, before and beyond all, I am a miserable woman.” As these words escaped her the lack of self-control of which they gave proof was so alarming to her that she begged her friend to take her home at once, saying that she was really not well, and must be alone to rest. Martha felt chilled and hurt. It was all so disappointing, and she seemed so completely put at a distance. The day which she had looked forward to with such eager joy had turned out dreary and sad. There was nothing to do, however, but to drive her friend back to her apartment. When they got there, Sonia turned and kissed her warmly, but said nothing; and Martha drove home, feeling lonely and perplexed. She did not expect to see the princess at the atelier next morning; but to her amazement, when she got there quite early herself, the beautiful, lithe figure was already before the easel, hard at work. There was, moreover, an air of strength and self-reliance about her which offered the greatest contrast to her manner of the day before.