She glanced at the white room with its dainty bibelots,
the Bible, the Madonnas, watching, benign. Poor little
nun, waiting for the love that never could come to her!

"I am glad you are here, my child. You can tell me what
I want to know. I have not an hour to spare. I am going
to my son--to George. Do you know where he is?"

"At Vannes, in Brittany."

"Brittany--that is a long way." Frances rose
uncertainly. "I hoped he was near. I was in a Russian
village, and Clara's letter was long in finding me. When
I got it, I travelled night and day. I somehow thought
I should meet him on the way. I fancied he would come to
meet me."

Lucy's blue eyes watched her keenly a moment. Then she
rang the bell.

"You must eat, first of all," she said.

"No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now.
I haven't an hour."

"You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at
eight. Oh, I'm never mistaken about a train. Here is
the coffee. Now, I'll make you a nice sandwich."

Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched