Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/134

 first appearance she became the talk of the clubs and salons.

Her descent was swift, starting, as she did, half-way down the long hill at whose foot lives the demi-mondaine of Paris. A princeling from some petty German state smiled upon her; an Indian rajah succumbed stolidly to her charm; the gayest set of the gayest city in the world was at her feet.

In the course of time one of the magazine reproductions of "The Convent Girl" found its way into the American convent from which Miss Randolph had been graduated. Under it were a few words about the original—now known all over Europe under the sobriquet she had gained from the title of the picture.

The Mother Superior and the girl's former teacher looked at it together for a moment. The face was the face of the pupil they had loved; the eyes were those of the woman who unflinchingly faced the world that had made her what she was. Even the guileless glance of the nuns read what was there, and did not need the illumination afforded by the text. The Superior solemnly tore the scrap of paper into little bits.

"We can still pray for her," she said, slowly.

In Paris, the gay life of the Convent Girl went on with increasing swiftness. Given the