"Poor Sister Annette! Her rain has come at last," said Therese, more slowly. There was a Te Deum at the Cathedral, but grateful hearts did not wait for that to sing their own little special Te Deums. Never had the great plains been so delightful in their eyes as now, when a dense grey pall lay over them, blurring the outlines, creeping up thicker and thicker, dark, watery, heavy masses. The thunder-clouds had come first, great mountainous forms, with white mists floating across them; then followed a few hours of clear, cool, enchanting weather, and afterwards the plains were folded in the thick, close low rain, more beautiful to the people than the most gorgeous colouring could have been. It made itself felt upon the fever at once. Not many days after, Therese was sent for to the little room in the lobby, where Nannon was allowed to enter. Nannon was there, and M. Deshoulieres also. Something in their faces made her ask quickly what was the matter. It was very soon told. Nannon had come from Rue St Servan, where little Adolphe had the fever, and was crying out piteously for his mademoiselle, his dear Mademoiselle Therese. "Shall you go, mademoiselle?" asked Nannon. M. Deshoulieres said nothing, he only looked at her. "Of course I shall go," answered Therese; "that is, if you think I can be spared," she went on, appealing to him. "That can be arranged," he said, gravely. "But do you understand what you are doing? I fear these people have not treated you well." "My poor little Adolphe!" was the girl's only answer. She had learned something in these six weeks. They were obliged to keep her departure a secret from the patients who had been especially under her care. The nurses all kissed her; some of them had tears in their eyes. With all her bravery, she was so young that, when she went away, she clung to Sister Gabrielle and sobbed. "I have been happier here than I ever was in my life before," she said, between her sobs. I do not know whether it was really thus, but looking back she thought so; and M. Deshoulieres, who could not bear to hear her say it, went back to the ward suddenly, so that when she looked round to wish him good-by, he was not there. "Has that woman no perception, then," Nannon said, indignantly, as they toiled up through the steep streets, "that she will not allow our doctor to come? Monsieur Pinot is not bad, no, he is not bad, but he is like the gosling waddling after the gander. Mademoiselle need not laugh, she knows what I mean. What would you have? Charville could not expect to see two M. Deshoulieres." Nannon had been converted utterly, and like other converts she was not fond of hearing her former opinions quoted. "After all," she went on, "I am glad mademoiselle is out of that place." "Is the poor child very ill?"