e alone and think at his ease; and he lay absorbed
by deep thought till day broke.

He rose only to go to mass. He went to the church and knelt close to
the screen, with his forehead touching the curtain; he would have torn
a hole in it if he had been alone, but his host had come with him out of
politeness, and the least imprudence might compromise the whole future
of his love, and ruin the new hopes.

The organ sounded, but it was another player, and not the nun of the
last two days whose hands touched the keys. It was all colorless and
cold for the General. Was the woman he loved prostrated by emotion which
well-nigh overcame a strong man's heart? Had she so fully realised and
shared an unchanged, longed-for love, that now she lay dying on her bed
in her cell? While innumerable thoughts of this kind perplexed his mind,
the voice of the woman he worshipped rang out close beside him; he knew
its clear resonant soprano. It was her voice, with that faint tremor in
it which gave it all the charm that shyness and diffidence gives to a
young girl; her voice, distinct from the mass of singing as a _prima
donna's_ in the chorus of a finale. It was like a golden or silver
thread in dark frieze.

It was she! There could be no mistake. Parisienne now as ever, she had
not laid coquetry aside when she threw off worldly adornments for the
veil and the Carmelite's coarse serge. She who had affirmed her love
last evening in the praise sent up to God, seemed now to say to her
lover, "Yes, it is I. I am here. My love is unchanged, but I am beyond
the reach of love. You will hear my voice, my soul shall enfold you,
and I shall abide here under the brown shroud in the choir from which no
power on earth can tear me. You shall never see me more!"

"It is she indeed!" the General said to himself, raising his head. He
had leant his face on his hands, unable at first to bear the intolerable
emotion that surged like a whirlpool in his heart, when that well-known
voice vibrated under the arcading, with the sound of the sea for
accompaniment.

Storm was without, and calm within the sanctuary. Still that rich voice
poured out all its caressing notes; it fell like balm on the lover's
burning heart; it blossomed upon the air--the air that a man would fain
breathe more deeply to receive the effluence of a soul breathed forth
with love in the words of the prayer. The alcalde coming to join
his guest found him in tears during the elevation, while