Surely she was a good woman, I thought, and vaguely wondered about her past history--that past which she had buried forever under a mountain of prayers. What had she been like when young--before she had shut herself within the convent walls--before she had set the crucifix like a seal on her heart? Had she ever trapped a man's soul and strangled it with lies? I fancied not--her look was too pure and candid; yet who could tell? Were not Nina's eyes trained to appear as though they held the very soul of truth? A few minutes passed. I heard the fresh voices of children singing in the next room: "D'ou vient le petit Gesu? Ce joli bouton de rose Qui fleurit, enfant cheri Sur le coeur de notre mere Marie."
Then came a soft rustle of silken garments, the door opened, and my wife entered.