ardly had a
glimpse of him, but she had been struck by his beauty, and had reflected
that if he were Signor Maironi she could understand Jeanne's passion.
Conscious of her fresh and youthful appearance, it never entered
her head that her twenty-five years could be mistaken for Jeanne's
thirty-two. Jeanne, in the meantime, was wondering how she could turn
her dilemma to the best account.

"You were not expected last night," said Don Clemente to Noemi. "You
come from the Veneto, I believe?"

"The Veneto?" Noemi seemed surprised.

"The Selvas told me you lived in the Veneto," the Padre added.

Then Noemi understood. She smiled, and murmured a monosyllable which was
neither "yes" nor "no"; she also was determined to take advantage of
her position, and, thanks to this misunderstanding, obtain a private
interview with Don Clemente, and warn him if necessary. It was moreover
most amusing to talk to this handsome monk, who believed her to be
Jeanne. By a look she cautioned Jeanne, who, much embarrassed, was
glancing from her to the monk, doubtful whether to speak or remain
silent.

"Of course my friend knows Santa Scolastica already," she said, "but I
have never been here before."

She turned to Jeanne.

"If the Padre will be kind enough to accompany me, it seems to me you
might remain here, as you are not feeling well," she said.

Jeanne consented so readily that Noemi suspected she had some secret
plan, and wondered if she had not made a mistake in proposing this.
However, it was too late now. Don Clemente, not over-pleased at having
to accompany one lady alone, suggested they should wait; perhaps her
friend would feel stronger presently. Jeanne protested. No, they must
not wait; she was glad to remain there.

While passing from the first to the second cloister, Noemi once more
reminded the Padre of their meeting on the previous night.

"You had a companion?" she said, and immediately felt ashamed of her
deceit, and of not having cleared up the mistake under which the monk
was labouring. Don Clemente answered almost under his breath:

"Yes, signora, a kitchen-gardener from the monastery."

Both their faces were crimson, but they did not look at one another, and
each was conscious only of his and her own blush.

"Do you know who we are?" Noemi continued.

Don Clemente replied that he believed he knew. They must be the two
ladies Signora Selva expected. He thought she had mentioned her sister
and Signora Dessa