e followed her through the lodge, which only received light from its
doors when they were open. Across one corner a dark brown curtain was
hung, which presumably hid the portress's pallet-bed. She led him
through a whitewashed corridor, lighted from above, into a wide hall
from which a broad staircase led upwards, and which had several doors,
besides two open entrances. The portress opened one of the doors and
shut it as soon as Gambardella had entered.

He walked up and down the long gloomy room while he waited; the two
grated windows were far above reach and opened upon a blank wall
opposite. The bare stone pavement was damp, and the furniture consisted
of a dark walnut table, once polished, a long straight-backed settle
placed at one end, and twelve rush-bottomed chairs arranged round the
sides of the room with great regularity. Above the settle hung a
painfully realistic crucifix; on the wall at the opposite end a large
barocco picture represented Saint Ursula in glory with the Eleven
Thousand Virgins of Cologne. Opposite the windows there was a bad copy
of a portrait of Paul III., the Pope who first established the order.
Judging from the parlour, it could not be said that the Ursulines of
Ferrara were living in reprehensible luxury.

In three or four minutes the door opened again and the Mother Superior
entered. She was taller than most women, and very lean; her black gown
and the black veil that almost reached the ground hung in straight
folds, and her wimple and gorget framed a dark face, thin and
expressive, with noticeably symmetrical features and ardent black eyes.
It was impossible to guess at her age, but she might have been thirty.

She bent her head slightly, in acknowledgment of Gambardella's
respectful bow, and looked at him during several seconds, as if she were
recalling his appearance to her memory. Then she slowly walked away to
the settle, seated herself in the middle of it, and pointed to a chair
at a little distance. He sat down and waited for her to speak.

'Why have you come?' she asked, in a low tone that sounded resentful.

'Is it a crime to see you after ten years?' asked Gambardella with a
good deal of sadness, and watching her face intently.

'Unless you have changed greatly, it is at least a sin,' she answered
deliberately, and she met his eyes with eyes suddenly fierce.

'I have changed greatly, and not for the better,' he said simply, but he
could not face her look. 'It is neither