ion. He was thinking of the good red wine of the monks. In a
cloud of white dust the carriage rolled onwards between vineyards in
which, here and there, labourers were working, sheltered from the sun by
immense straw hats. A long line of waggons, laden with barrels and drawn
by mules covered with bells, sheltered from the flies by leaves, met
them. In the distance Domini saw forests of eucalyptus trees. Suddenly
it seemed to her as if she saw Androvsky coming from them towards
the white road, helping a man who was pale, and who stumbled as if
half-fainting, yet whose face was full of a fierce passion of joy--the
stranger whose influence had driven him out of the monastery into the
world. She bent down her head and hid her face in her hands, praying,
praying with all her strength for courage in this supreme moment of her
life. But almost directly the prayers died on her lips and in her heart,
and she found herself repeating the words of _The Imitation_:

"Love watcheth, and sleeping, slumbereth not. When weary it is not
tired; when straitened it is not constrained; when frightened it is
not disturbed; but like a vivid flame and a burning torch it mounteth
upwards and securely passeth through all. Whosoever loveth knoweth the
cry of this voice."

Again and again she said the words: "It securely passeth through
all--it securely passeth through all." Now, at last, she was to know
the uttermost truth of those words which she had loved in her happiness,
which she clung to now as a little child clings to its father's hand.

The carriage turned to the right, went on a little way, then stopped.

Domini lifted her face from her hands. She saw before her a great door
which stood open. Above it was a statue of the Madonna and Child, and
on either side were two angels with swords and stars. Underneath was
written, in great letters:

JANUA COELI.

Beyond, through the doorway, she saw an open space upon which the
sunlight streamed, three palm trees, and a second door which was shut.
Above this second door was written:

"_Les dames n'entrent pas ici._"

As she looked the figure of a very old monk with a long white beard
shuffled slowly across the patch of sunlight and disappeared.

The coachman turned round.

"You descend here," he said in a cheerful voice. "Madame will be
entertained in the parlour on the right of the first door, but Monsieur
can go on to the _hotellerie_. It's over there."

He pointed with his whip and t