m there. I don't think she was
frightened; she was only shocked. But I don't suppose her heart is
desperately bad, because when I dropped into a chair feeling very tired
she came and knelt in front of me and put her arms round my waist and
entreated me to cast off from me my evil ways with the help of saints and
priests. Quite a little programme for a reformed sinner. I got away at
last. I left her sunk on her heels before the empty chair looking after
me. 'I pray for you every night and morning, Rita,' she said.--'Oh, yes.
I know you are a good sister,' I said to her. I was letting myself out
when she called after me, 'And what about this house, Rita?' I said to
her, 'Oh, you may keep it till the day I reform and enter a convent.'
The last I saw of her she was still on her knees looking after me with
her mouth open. I have seen her since several times, but our intercourse
is, at any rate on her side, as of a frozen nun with some great lady.
But I believe she really knows how to make men comfortable. Upon my word
I think she likes to look after men. They don't seem to be such great
sinners as women are. I think you could do worse than take up your
quarters at number 10. She will no doubt develop a saintly sort of
affection for you, too."

I don't know that the prospect of becoming a favourite of Dona Rita's
peasant sister was very fascinating to me. If I went to live very
willingly at No. 10 it was because everything connected with Dona Rita
had for me a peculiar fascination. She had only passed through the house
once as far as I knew; but it was enough. She was one of those beings
that leave a trace. I am not unreasonable--I mean for those that knew
her. That is, I suppose, because she was so unforgettable. Let us
remember the tragedy of Azzolati the ruthless, the ridiculous financier
with a criminal soul (or shall we say heart) and facile tears. No
wonder, then, that for me, who may flatter myself without undue vanity
with being much finer than that grotesque international intriguer, the
mere knowledge that Dona Rita had passed through the very rooms in which
I was going to live between the strenuous times of the sea-expeditions,
was enough to fill my inner being with a great content. Her glance, her
darkly brilliant blue glance, had run over the walls of that room which
most likely would be mine to slumber in. Behind me, somewhere near the
door, Therese, the peasant sister, said in a funnily comp