” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir.
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