to tears in a spoilt child.
And the complaining voice went on:

"You do not love me at all! Hm! Hm! For pity's sake let us talk a
little! Hm! Hm! Hm!"

In her mother tongue, Noemi sighed:

"_Oh_! _mon Dieu_!"

With another sigh she resigned herself to the inevitable:

"Well, go ahead! But what can you say to me that you have not already
said in the last four hours?"

The thunder roared, but Jeanne no longer noticed it.

"To-morrow morning we will go to the monastery," said she.

"Why yes, of course!"

"Only we two alone?"

"Yes, certainly, that is already settled."

The tearful voice was silent a moment, and then went on: "You have not
yet promised not to tell anything here in the house."

"I've promised at least ten times!"

"You know what you are to say--do you not--if you are questioned about
my fainting last night?"

"I know."

"You must say that the Padre was not _he_; that I was disappointed, and
that was why I fainted."

"Gracious, Jeanne! This is the twentieth time you have said that!"

"How cruel you are, Noemi! How little you care for me!"

Silence.

Jeanne's voice began again:

"Tell me what you think. Do you really believe he has forgotten me?"

"I will not answer that again!"

"Oh! please answer! Just one word, then I will let you go to sleep!"

Noemi reflected a moment and then answered drily, hoping to silence
Jeanne:

"Well, I think he has. I do not believe he ever loved you."

"You say that because I myself have said so to you!" Jeanne retorted
violently, no longer in a tearful voice.

"You are no judge of that!"

"_Bon ca_!" Noemi grumbled. "_C'est elle qui me l'a dit, et je ne dois
pas le savoir_!" Silence again.

The tearful voice once more:

"Noemi!"

No answer.

"Noemi, listen!"

Still no answer. Jeanne began to cry, and Noemi yielded.

"For heaven's sake! what Is it now?"

"Piero cannot know that my husband is dead."

"Well, and what of that?"

"Then he cannot know that I am free,"

"Well? How stupid you are! You make me angry!"

Silence. Jeanne knew the nature of her anger very well. Her friend's
convictions were too much like her own, and she longed to have her
painful presentiment contradicted, longed for a word of hope.

She laughed a low, forced laugh:

"Noemi, now you are pretending to be offended on purpose not to have to
talk."

Silence.

Jeanne began again, very sweetly:

"Listen. Don't you believe he suffers temptations?"

S