“Oh, but, Giulietta, I don’t want anything.  I couldn’t eat, if I were to try.”

“Ta, ta, ta!” said Giulietta, going out.  “Wait till you smell it.  I shall be back in a little while.”

And she left the room, locking the door after her.

In a few moments she returned, bearing a rich silver tray, on which was a covered dish that steamed a refreshing odor, together with a roll of white bread, and a small glass flacon containing a little choice wine.

By much entreaty and coaxing, Agnes was induced to partake of the bread, enough to revive her somewhat after the toils of the day; and then, a little reassured by the familiar presence of Giulietta, she began to undress, her former companion officiously assisting her.

“There, now, you are tired, my lady princess,” she said.  “I’ll unlace your bodice.  One of these days your gowns will be all of silk, and stiff with gold and pearls.”

“Oh, Giulietta,” said Agnes, “don’t!—­let me,—­I don’t need help.”

“Ta, ta, ta!—­you must learn to be waited on,” said Giulietta, persisting.  “But, Holy Virgin! what is the matter here?  Oh, Agnes, what are you doing to yourself?”

“It’s a penance, Giulietta,” said Agnes, her face flushing.

“Well, I should think it was!  Father Francesco ought to be ashamed of himself; he is a real butcher!”

“He does it to save my soul, Giulietta.  The cross of our Lord without will heal a deadly wound within.”

In her heart, Giulietta had somewhat of secret reverence for such austerities, which the whole instruction of her time and country taught her to regard as especially saintly.  People who live in the senses more than in the world of reflection feel the force of such outward appeals.  Giulietta made the sign of the cross, and looked grave for several minutes.

“Poor little dove!” she said at last, “if your sins must needs be expiated so, what will become of me?  It must be that you will lay up stores of merit with God; for surely your sins do not need all this.  Agnes, you will be a saint some day, like your namesake at the Convent, I truly do believe.”

“Oh, no, no, Giulietta! don’t talk so!  God knows I wrestle with forbidden thoughts all the while.  I am no saint, but the chief of sinners.”

“That’s what the saints all say,” said Giulietta.  “But, my dear princess, when he comes, he will forbid this; he is lordly, and will not suffer his little wife”—­

“Giulietta, don’t speak so,—­I cannot hear it,—­I must not be his wife,—­I am vowed to be the spouse of the Lord.”