dred napkins, and, putting it all in a large bag, I repaired with her
to Muran. On our way there I wrote in pencil to my sweetheart, telling
her to have entire confidence in Laura, and assuring her that I would not
leave Muran until all danger had passed. Before we landed, Laura told me
that, in order not to be remarked, I had better conceal myself in her
house. At any other time it would have been shutting up the wolf in the
sheep-fold. She left me in a miserable-looking small room on the ground
floor, and concealing about herself as much linen as she could she
hurried to her patient, whom she had not seen since the previous evening.
I was in hopes that she would find her out of danger, and I longed to see
her come back with that good news.

She was absent about one hour, and when she returned her looks were sad.
She told me that my poor friend, having lost a great deal of blood during
the night, was in bed in a very weak state, and that all we could do was
to pray to God for her, because, if the flooding of the blood did not
stop soon, she could not possibly live twenty-four hours.

When I saw the linen which she had concealed under her clothes to bring
it out, I could not disguise my horror, and I thought the sight would
kill me. I fancied myself in a slaughter-house! Laura, thinking of
consoling me, told me that I could rely upon the secret being well kept.

"Ah! what do I care!" I exclaimed. "Provided she lives, let the whole
world know that she is my wife!"

At any other time, the foolishness of poor Laura would have made me
laugh; but in such a sad moment I had neither the inclination nor the
courage to be merry.

"Our dear patient," added Laura, "smiled as she was reading your letter,
and she said that, with you so near her, she was certain not to die."

Those words did me good, but a man needs so little to console him or to
soothe his grief.

"When the nuns are at their dinner," said Laura, "I will go back to the
convent with as much linen as I can conceal about me, and in the mean
time I am going to wash all this."

"Has she had any visitors?"

"Oh, yes! all the convent; but no one has any suspicion of the truth."

"But in such hot weather as this she can have only a very light blanket
over her, and her visitors must remark the great bulk of the napkins."

"There is no fear of that, because she is sitting up in her bed."

"What does she eat?"

"Nothing, for she must not eat."

Soon afterwards L