e to work it
out. Now, however, a good idea occurred to me, which would postpone the
conclusion of the interesting portion of my work. I would have my
secretary read what she had written. This would give me time to think
out more of the story, and it is often important that an author should
know what he has done before he goes on to do more. We had arrived at a
point where the narrative could easily stop for a while; Tomaso having
gone on a fishing voyage, and the middle-aged innkeeper, whose union
with Lucilla was favored by her mother and the village priest, having
departed for Naples to assume the guardianship of two very handsome
young women, the daughters of an old friend, recently deceased.

When I communicated to my nun my desire to change her work from writing
to reading, she seemed surprised, and asked if there were not danger
that I might forget how I intended to end the story. I reassured her on
this point, and she appeared to resign herself to the situation.

"Shall I begin with the first page of the manuscript," said she, "or
read only what I have written?"

"Oh, begin at the very beginning," I said. "I want to hear it all."

Then she began, hesitating a little at times over the variable
chirography of my first amanuensis. I drew up my chair near to the
grating, but before she had read two pages I asked her to stop for a
moment.

"I think," said I, "it will be impossible for me to get a clear idea of
what you are reading unless you turn and speak in my direction. You see,
the sides of your bonnet interfere very much with my hearing what you
say."

For a few moments she remained in her ordinary position, and then she
slowly turned her chair toward me. I am sure she had received
instructions against looking into my study, which was filled with
objects calculated to attract the attention of an intelligent and
cultivated person. Then she read the manuscript, and as she did so I
said to myself, over and over again, that for her to read to me was a
thousand times more agreeable than for me to dictate to her.

As she read, her eyes were cast down on the pages which she held in her
hand; but frequently when I made a correction they were raised to mine,
as she endeavored to understand exactly what I wanted her to do. I made
a good many alterations which I think improved the work very much.

Once she found it utterly impossible to decipher a certain word of the
manuscript. She scrutinized it earnestly, and t