u are going
to inform me of an event which seems wonderful to me; quick, dearest,
satisfy my impatience."

The reader will guess my surprise when he learns that on hearing her
voice close to me I found that she was not M---- M----. She told me that
she did not understand Venetian, and that I did not require a light to
tell her what M. de Coudert had decided on doing to save her from her
peril.

"You surprise me; I do not know M. de Coudert. What! Are you not a
Venetian? Are you not the nun I saw this morning?"

"Hapless one! I have made a mistake. I am the nun you saw this morning,
but I am French. In the name of God keep my counsel and begone, for I
have nothing to say to you! Whisper, for if the lay-sister woke up I
should be undone."

"Do not be afraid of my discretion. What deceived me was your exact
likeness to a nun of your order who will be always dear to me: and if you
had not allowed me to see your features I should not have followed you.
Forgive the tenderness I shewed towards you, though you must think me
very audacious."

"You astonished me very much, but you did not offend me. I wish I were
the nun in whom you are interested. I am on the brink of a fearful
precipice."

"If ten louis are any good to you, it will be an honour for me to give
you them."

"Thank you, I have no need of money. Allow me to give you back the louis
you sent me this morning."

"The louis was for the country-woman. You increase my surprise; pray tell
me what is the misfortune under which you labour, for which money can do
nothing."

"Perhaps God has sent you to my aid. Maybe you will give me good advice.
Listen to what I am about to tell you."

"I am at your service, and I will listen with the greatest attention. Let
us sit down."

"I am afraid there is neither seat nor bed."

"Say on, then; we will remain standing."

"I come from Grenoble. I was made to take the veil at Chamberi. Two years
after my profession, M. de Coudert found means to see me. I received him
in the convent garden, the walls of which he scaled, and at last I was so
unfortunate as to become pregnant. The idea of giving birth to a child at
the convent was too dreadful--I should have languished till I died in a
terrible dungeon--and M. de Coudert thought of a plan for taking me out
of the convent. A doctor whom he gained over with a large sum of money
declared that I should die unless I came here to take the waters, which
he declared were the only cu