“I address the Count Oliva?” she inquired.

I bowed in the affirmative.  She looked at me keenly:  she had dark, brilliant eyes, in which the smoldering fires of many a conquered passion still gleamed.

“You would see the Countess Romani, who is in retreat here?”

“If not inconvenient or out of rule—­” I began.

The shadow of a smile flitted across the nun’s pale, intellectual face; it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Not at all,” she replied, in the same even monotone.  “The Countess Nina is, by her own desire, following a strict regime, but to-day being a universal feast-day all rules are somewhat relaxed.  The reverend mother desires me to inform you that it is now the hour for mass—­she has herself already entered the chapel.  If you will share in our devotions, the countess shall afterward be informed of your presence here.”

I could do no less than accede to this proposition, though in truth it was unwelcome to me.  I was in no humor for either prayers or praise; I thought moodily how startled even this impassive nun might have been, could she have known what manner of man it was that she thus invited to kneel in the sanctuary.  However, I said no word of objection, and she bade me follow her.  As we left the room I asked: 

“Is the countess well?”

“She seems so,” returned Mere Marguerite; “she follows her religious duties with exactitude, and makes no complaint of fatigue.”

We were now crossing the hall.  I ventured on another inquiry.

“She was a favorite pupil of yours, I believe?”

The nun turned her passionless face toward me with an air of mild surprise and reproof.

“I have no favorites,” she answered, coldly.  “All the children educated here share my attention and regard equally.”

I murmured an apology, and added with a forced smile: 

“You must pardon my apparent inquisitiveness, but as the future husband of the lady who was brought up under your care, I am naturally interested in all that concerns her.”

Again the searching eyes of the religieuse surveyed me; she sighed slightly.

“I am aware of the connection between you,” she said, in rather a pained tone.  “Nina Romani belongs to the world, and follows the ways of the world.  Of course, marriage is the natural fulfillment of most young girls’ destinies, there are comparatively few who are called out of the ranks to serve Christ.  Therefore, when Nina married the estimable Count Romani, of whom report spoke ever favorably, we rejoiced greatly, feeling that her future was safe in the hands of a gentle and wise protector.  May his soul rest in peace!  But a second marriage for her is what I did not expect, and what I cannot in my conscience approve.  You see I speak frankly.”

“I am honored that you do so, madame!” I said, earnestly, feeling a certain respect for this sternly composed yet patient-featured woman; “yet, though in general you may find many reasonable objections to it, a second marriage is I think, in the Countess Romani’s case almost necessary.  She is utterly without a protector—­ she is very young and how beautiful!”