“Oh! it is you who have had me followed, is it?”

“No, it is I who followed you, but to no effect.  However, I did not think you were so wicked.  You frightened me dreadfully!  Do you know, sir, you might have killed me if your shot had not luckily missed.”

“I missed on purpose, dearest; for though I did not suspect that it was you, I fired in the air, feeling certain that that would be enough to scare off the spies.”

“You won’t be troubled with them any more.”

“If they like to follow me, perhaps I shall let them, for my walk is quite innocent.  I am always back by ten.”

While we were at table we saw a travelling carriage and six horses drawn up.  It was the Marquis de Prie, with a Chevalier de St. Louis and two charming ladies, of whom one, as the Zeroli hastened to inform me, was the Marquis’s mistress.  Four places were laid, and while the newcomers were waiting to be served, they were told the story of my bet with the Englishman.

The marquis congratulated me, telling me that he had not hoped to find me at Aix on his return; and here Madame Zeroli put in her word, and said that if it had not been for her he would not have seen me again.  I was getting used to her foolish talk, and I could only agree with a good grace, which seemed to delight her intensely although her husband was present, but he seemed to share her triumph.

The marquis said that he would make a little bank for me, and feeling obliged to accept I soon lost a hundred louis.  I went to my room to write some letters, and at twilight I set out to see my nun.

“What news have you?”

“The lay-sister is dead, and she is to be buried tomorrow.  To-morrow is the day we were to have returned to the convent.  This is the letter I am sending to the abbess.  She will dispatch another laysister, unless she orders the country-woman to bring me back to the convent.”

“What did the priest say?”

“He said the lay-sister died of a cerebral lethargy, which super-induced an attack of apoplexy.”

“Very good, very good.”

“I want him to say fifteen masses for her, if you will let me?”

“Certainly, my dear, they will serve as the priest’s reward, or rather as the reward of his happy ignorance.”

I called the peasant woman, and gave her the order to have the masses said, and bade her tell the priest that the masses were to be said for the intention of the person who paid for them.  She told me that the aspect of the dead sister was dreadful, and that she had to be guarded by two women who sprinkled her with holy water, lest witches, under the form of cats, should come and tear her limb from limb.  Far from laughing at her, I told her she was quite right, and asked where she had got the laudanum.

“I got it from a worthy midwife, and old friend of mine.  We got it to send the poor lay-sister to sleep when the pains of child-birth should come on.”