in the lonely guest-room.  Mother Hilda’s instruction in the novitiate seems childish, yet why is it more childish than a hundred other things?  Only because one is not accustomed to look at life from the point of view of the convent.  As a guest, I felt it to be impossible to remain in the convent for three months, and it pleased me, I admit it, and interested me, I admit it, to try to become part of this conventual life, so different, so strangely different, from the life of the world, so remote from common sympathies.  In speaking of this life, one hardly knows what words to employ, so inadequate are words to express one’s meaning, or shall I say one’s feeling?  ‘Actress again,’ I hear your thoughts, Monsignor; ’a woman desirous of a new experience, of new sensations.’  No, no, Monsignor, no; but I confess that the pure atmosphere of the convent is easier and more agreeable to breathe than the atmosphere of the world and its delight.  To her whose quest is chastity, it is infinitely agreeable to feel that she is living among chaste women, the chastity of the nuns seems to penetrate and enfold me.  To the hunted animal a sense of safety is perhaps a greater pleasure than any other, and one is never really unhappy, however uncomfortable one’s circumstances may be, if one is doing what one wants to do....  But I am becoming sententious.”

In another letter to Monsignor she said: 

“This morning I received a long and delightful letter from my father telling me about the progress he is making, or I should say the progress that the choir is making under his direction, and how convinced he found everybody of the necessity of a musical reformation of some kind, and how gratifying it was to find them ready to accept his reading of the old music as the one they had been waiting for all this time.  But, Monsignor, does my father exaggerate?  For all this sounds too delightful to be true.  Is it possible that his ideas meet with no opposition?  Or is it that an opposition is preparing behind an ambuscade of goodwill?  Father is such an optimist that any enthusiasm for his ideas convinces him that stupidity has ended in the world at last.  But you will not be duped, Monsignor, for Rome is your native city, and his appointment of capelmeister is owing to you, and the kindly reception of my father’s ideas—­if they have been received as he thinks—­is also owing to you.  You will not be deceived, as he would easily be, by specious appearance, and will support him in the struggle that may be preparing under cover.  I know you will.  “His letter is entirely concerned with music; he does not tell me about his daily life, and, knowing how neglectful he is of material things, thinking only of his ideas, I am not a little anxious about him:  how he is lodged, and if there is anybody by him who will see that he has regular meals.  He will neglect his meals if he is allowed to neglect them, so, in the interests of the musical reformation, somebody should