“I want to see the Mother Superior,” said I. “Will you take my name to her?”
I heard another step in the passage. The door was flung wide open, and a stout and stately old lady faced me, a frown on her brow.
“Madame,” said I, “until you hear my errand you will think me an ill-mannered fellow.”
“What is your business, sir?”
“It is for your ear alone, madame.”
“You can’t come in here,” said she decisively.
For a moment I was at a loss. Then the simplest solution in the world occurred to me.
“But you can come out, madame,” I suggested.
She looked at me doubtfully for a minute. Then she stepped out, shutting the door carefully behind her. I caught a glimpse of the little nun’s face, and thought there was a look of disappointment on it. The old lady and I began to walk along the path that led to the burying-ground.
“I do not know,” said I, “whether you have heard of me. My name is Aycon.”