The countess gave me her usual welcome, and, after the thousand nothings which it is the custom to utter in society before anything worth saying is spoken, I led the conversation up to the convents of Venice.  We spoke of the wit and influence of a nun called Celsi, who, although ugly, had an immense credit everywhere and in everything.  We mentioned afterwards the young and lovely Sister Michali, who had taken the veil to prove to her mother that she was superior to her in intelligence and wit.  After speaking of several other nuns who had the reputation of being addicted to gallantry, I named M——­ M——­, remarking that most likely she deserved that reputation likewise, but that she was an enigma.  The countess answered with a smile that she was not an enigma for everybody, although she was necessarily so for most people.

“What is incomprehensible,” she said, “is the caprice that she took suddenly to become a nun, being handsome, rich, free, well-educated, full of wit, and, to my knowledge, a Free-thinker.  She took the veil without any reason, physical or moral; it was a mere caprice.”

“Do you believe her to be happy, madam?”

“Yes, unless she has repented her decision, or if she does not repent it some day.  But if ever she does, I think she will be wise enough never to say so to anyone.”

Satisfied by the mysterious air of the countess that M——­ M——­ had a lover, I made up my mind not to trouble myself about it, and having put on my mask I went to Muran in the afternoon.  When I reached the gate of the convent I rang the bell, and with an anxious heart I asked for M——­ M——­ in the name of Madame de S——.  The small parlour being closed, the attendant pointed out to me the one in which I had to go.  I went in, took off my mask, and sat down waiting for my divinity.

My heart was beating furiously; I was waiting with great impatience; yet that expectation was not without charm, for I dreaded the beginning of the interview.  An hour passed pretty rapidly, but I began then to find the time rather long, and thinking that, perhaps, the attendant had not rightly understood me, I rang the bell, and enquired whether notice of my visit had being given to Sister M——­ M——.  A voice answered affirmatively.  I took my seat again, and a few minutes afterwards an old, toothless nun came in and informed me that Sister M——­ M——­ was engaged for the whole day.  Without giving me time to utter a single word, the woman left the parlour.  This was one of those terrible moments to which the man who worships at the shrine of the god of love is exposed!  They are indeed cruel moments; they bring fearful sorrow, they may cause death.

Feeling myself disgraced, my first sensation was utter contempt for myself, an inward despair which was akin to rage; the second was disdainful indignation against the nun, upon whom I passed the severe judgment which I thought she deserved, and which was the only way I had to soothe my grief.  Such behaviour proclaimed her to be the most impudent of women, and entirely wanting in good sense; for the two letters she had written to me were quite enough to ruin her character if I had wished to revenge myself, and she evidently could not expect anything else from me.  She must have been mad to set at defiance my revengeful feelings, and I should certainly have thought that she was insane if I had not heard her converse with the countess.