eed which can be easily imagined when one drives a sixty
"Mercedes." Suddenly, almost before I was aware of it, I had flashed
across a narrower road running at right angles, and saw, standing back
out of the way of the car, a female figure.

In a moment I put on the brakes, and, pulling up, glanced back.

The woman was walking hurriedly towards me, but she was surely not the
person of whom I was in search.

She wore a blue dress and a big white-winged linen headdress.

She was a nun!

I glanced around, but there was no other person in sight. We were in the
centre of that great historic Forest wherein Napoleon the Great loved to
roam alone and think out fresh conquests.

Seeing the "Sister" hurrying towards me, I got down, wondering if she
meant to speak.

"Pardon, m'sieur," she exclaimed in musical French, rendered almost
breathless by her quick walk, "but is this the automobile of M'sieur
Bellingham, of London?"

I raised my eyes, and saw before me a face more pure and perfect in its
beauty than any I had ever seen before. Contrary to what I had believed,
she was quite young--certainly not more than nineteen--with a pair of
bright dark eyes which had quite a _soupcon_ of mischief in them. For a
moment I stood speechless before her.

And she was a nun! Surely in the seclusion of the religious houses all
over the Continent the most beautiful of women live and languish and
die. Had she escaped from one of the convents in the neighbourhood? Had
she grown tired of prayers, penances, and the shrill tongue of some
wizen-faced Mother Superior?

Her dancing eyes belied her religious habit, and as she looked at me in
eager inquiry, and yet with modest demeanour, I felt that I had already
fallen into a veritable vortex of mystery.

"Yes," I replied, also in French, for fortunately I could chatter that
most useful of all languages, "this car belongs to M'sieur Bellingham,
and if I am not mistaken, Mademoiselle is named Pierrette?"

"Yes, m'sieur," she replied quickly. "Oh, I have been waiting half an
hour for you, and I've been so afraid of being seen. I--I thought--you
were never coming--and I wondered whatever I was to do."

"I was delayed, mademoiselle. I have come straight from London."

"Yes," she said, smiling, "you look as though you have come a long way;"
and she noticed that the car was very dusty, with splashes of dried mud
here and there.

"You are coming to Monte Carlo with me," I said, "but you canno