added; for Giselle had many little convent maxims at her fingers' ends,
to which, when she uttered them, her sincerity of look and tone gave a
personal meaning.

"You are right," said Jacqueline, much moved. "It has done me good to
see you. Take this chocolate."

"And you must take this," said Giselle, giving her a little illuminated
card, with sacred words and symbols.

"Adieu, dearest-say, have you ever detested any one?"

"Never!" cried Giselle, with horror.

"Well! I do detest--detest--You are right, I will go into the chapel.
I need some exorcism."

And laughing at her use of this last word--the same little mirthless
laugh that she had uttered before--Jacqueline went away, followed by the
admiring glances of the other girls, who from behind the bars of their
cage noted the brilliant plumage of this bird who was at liberty. She
crossed the courtyard, and, followed by Modeste, entered the chapel,
where she sank upon her knees. The mystic half-light of the place,
tinged purple by its passage through the stained windows, seemed to
enlarge the little chancel, parted in two by a double grille, behind
which the nuns could hear the service without being seen.

The silence was so deep that the low murmur of a prayer could now and
then be heard. The worshipers might have fancied themselves a hundred
leagues from all the noises of the world, which seemed to die out when