One spring afternoon, while seated at the open window finishing some needlework destined for a poor family living in a back street off the Hammersmith Broadway, she was chatting merrily with Sister Gertrude. Over their needlework the rules allowed them to chatter, and in that barely-furnished little room she and Sister Gertrude enjoyed many a pleasant gossip. Outside, the garden was gay with daffodils and hyacinths, and the trees were just bursting into bud, the fresh green rendered the brighter by the warm sunshine. Jean concluded her work at last, placed her needle in the cushion, and removed her thimble. "At last!" she sighed. "I've been over this a whole week," she added. "Yes; you've been most patient," declared her friend. "Soon you will abandon needlework and be sent out nursing. I heard the Mother Superior talking about it with Sister Lilian after vespers last night. Now that Sister Hannah has gone back to Paris we are one nurse short, and you are to take her place." "Am I?" cried Jean, with delight, for she had studied long and diligently in the hope that soon outside work would be given her. She was devoted to nursing, and had made herself proficient in most of the subjects. "Yes. I believe you will hear something in the course of a few days. But," added Sister Gertrude, "I know another secret. Your friend, the Mother Superior in Paris, is coming here, and ours has been transferred to Antwerp. The change will be announced, I expect, to-morrow." At this news Jean expressed the greatest satisfaction, for the grave, yet rather hard-faced, directress of the convent at Enghien had been so good and generous that she had become devotedly attached to her. Indeed, to her she owed her life, for in her despondent state on that morning when found in the Tuileries Gardens she had seriously contemplated throwing herself into the Seine. Jean was therefore loud in praise of the directress from Enghien, and highly delighted at the thought of her coming to take over the direction of the English branch of the Order. "Here is some paper and string to wrap up your work," Sister Gertrude said at last, handing her an old copy of the _Daily Telegraph_. "I am taking it with me to Hammersmith this evening." And then she left the room, promising to return in a few minutes. Alone, Jean, standing at the window, gazed idly at the newspaper, the date of which was a Monday in the previous October. It was strictly against the rules of the Order to read any newspaper, but as she turned it over, a column headed "Paris Day by Day" caught her eye. The temptation proved too much, and she scanned it down as she had been in the habit of scanning the paper each evening in the days when she had lived at home. Suddenly a paragraph caught her eye. Her mouth stood open, her eyes started from their sockets as she read. Then she held her breath, placing her left hand to her breast as though to stay the beating of her heart.