As they slowly passed out of the church the younger seemed to support the elder woman. Both bowed for a few moments in silence before the altar of Ste. Geneviève.

And when they arose, Mlle. Fouchette took from the bosom of her dress a bit of folded paper and put it in the box of offerings inside the rail.

It was the bank-note for five hundred francs.

At the door the grim sacristan, long impatient for this departure, growled his final disapproval of Mlle. Fouchette.

"She's a terror," he said.

"She's a saint, monsieur," was the quiet reply of Sister Agnes.

A few minutes later the great door of the Dames de St. Michel closed upon the two women. Mlle. Fouchette had ceased to exist, and Mlle. Louise Remy had entered upon the coveted life of peace and love.

THE END