. But she laid her hand on his arm and held
him. It was a queer picture.

"Let me go," he said. "I know best."

Her face flushed suddenly, and the nun stood before the detective.

"No," she replied quietly, "you do not know best. I am mistress here.
Will you kindly go?"

She went to the door and held it open for him, her actions and words
belying the meek demeanour which belongs to her calling, and which she
never laid aside for a moment.

So with a hopeless mien Sander left the room, and my nurse came
towards the bed.

"That," she said, softly, "is a very stupid man."

"He is not generally considered so, my sister."

She paid as little heed to my words as a nurse to the prattle of a
child.

"You have moved," she said, "and this bandage is ruffled. You must try
to lie quieter, for you have a nasty wound in your shoulder. I know,
for I have been through the war. How came you by such a hurt now that
peace has been declared?"

"The other man came by a worse one, for he is dead."

"Then the good God forgive you. But you must keep quiet. See--I will
read to you."

And out came the book again in its devotional black cover. She read
for a long while, but I paid no heed to her voice, nor fell under its
sleepy spell. Presently she closed the pages with a pious look of
reproach.

"You are not attending," she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I was wondering what cause you had to fall out with my agent,
Mr. Sander, who is not so stupid as you think."

"He is one of those," she answered primly, "who do not know how to
behave in a sick room. He foolishly wanted to talk to you of
affairs--when you are not well enough. Affairs--to a sick man!"

"Who should be thinking of the affairs of another world, my sister."

"Those always should come first," she answered, with downcast eyes.

"And of what did Mr. Sander want to speak?" I asked.

She looked up with a gleam of interest. Beneath the demure bib of her
professional apron there beat still a woman's heart. Sister Renee
wanted to tell me the news herself.

"Oh," she answered, "it is nothing that will interest you. You are not
even an Italian--only an Englishman."

"That is all, my sister."

"But all Genoa is on the housetops about it."

"Ah!"

"Yes. Never has there been so great a catastrophe; but you have no
friends here, so it will not affect you."

"Therefore, I may be the more safely told. I am not affected by great
catastrophes from a humane po