cely done so when the door opened quietly and a tall woman,
clad in trailing robes of pale blue with a nun's band and veil of fine
white cashmere, stood before me. I saluted her with a deep reverence;
she responded by the slightest possible bend of her head. Her outward
manner was so very still and composed that when she spoke her colorless
lips scarcely moved, her very breathing never stirred the silver
crucifix that lay like a glittering sign-manual on her quiet breast.
Her voice, though low, was singularly clear and penetrating.

"I address the Count Oliva?" she inquired.

I bowed in the affirmative. She looked at me keenly: she had dark,
brilliant eyes, in which the smoldering fires of many a conquered
passion still gleamed.

"You would see the Countess Romani, who is in retreat here?"

"If not inconvenient or out of rule--" I began.

The shadow of a smile flitted across the nun's pale, intellectual face;
it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Not at all," she replied, in the same even monotone. "The Countess
Nina is, by her own desire, following a strict regime, but to-day being
a universal feast-day all rules are somewhat relaxed. The reverend
mother desires me to inform you that it is now the hour for mass--she
has herself already entered the chapel. If you will share in our
devotions, the countess shall afterward be informed of your presence
here."

I could do no less than accede to this proposition, though in truth it
was unwelcome to me. I was in no humor for either prayers or praise; I
thought moodily how startled even this impassive nun might have been,
could she have known what manner of man it was that she thus invited to
kneel in the sanctuary. However, I said no word of objection, and she
bade me follow her. As we left the room I asked:

"Is the countess well?"

"She seems so," returned Mere Marguerite; "she follows her religious
duties with exactitude, and makes no complaint of fatigue."

We were now crossing the hall. I ventured on another inquiry.

"She was a favorite pupil of yours, I believe?"

The nun turned her passionless face toward me with an air of mild
surprise and reproof.

"I have no favorites," she answered, coldly. "All the children educated
here share my attention and regard equally."

I murmured an apology, and added with a forced smile:

"You must pardon my apparent inquisitiveness, but as the future husband
of the lady who was brought up under your care, I am n