that really did not concern Him at all.

All this was expounded in a veiled, clever, discreet and insinuating
manner. But each word of the holy woman in cornet made a breach in
the indignant resistance of the courtesan. Then the conversation
drifting somewhat, the woman with the hanging rosary spoke of the
Convents of her Order, of her Superior, of herself, and of her
lovely neighbor, the dear Sister Saint-Nicephore. They had been
called to Havre to nurse in the Hospitals hundreds of soldiers stricken
with small-pox. She described them, those wretched victims, and
gave details about their disease. And while they had been stopped
on their way by the caprices of this Prussian Officer, a large number
of Frenchmen, whom they would probably have saved, might die. It
was her specialty to nurse soldiers; she had been in Crimea,
in Italy, in Austria, and telling the story of her campaigns, she
unexpectedly revealed herself one of those Nuns fond of drums and
bugles, who seem to have been created to follow the armies in action,
to pick soldiers during the vicissitudes of battles, and, better
than a General, to tame with one word the rough and insubordinate
troopers; a genuine martial and bellicose Nun, whose wrinkled and
pitted face, looked like an image of the devastations of war.

No one uttered a word after she had concluded, so excellent seemed
to be the effect of her discourse.

As soon as the meal was over, they went up quickly to their rooms
and came down the next morning rather late.

Luncheon went off quietly. They were giving the seed that had been
sown time to germinate and come to fruition.