He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at the Lucretia. Berenice laughed frankly.
"Are you comparing us?" she asked gayly. "Or are you trying to decide what I would have done in her case? I can tell you that."
"What would you have done?"
"Done? I would have run away from him and the convent both! Do you think I was made to be cooped up in a nunnery if I could escape?"
"No," he answered with fervor, "you were certainly not made for that."
"That is an unclerical answer from a monk."
"I am not a monk."
She put her head a little on one side with delicious coquetry.
"Would it be rude to ask what you are, then?"
He regarded her a moment, and then with explosive vehemence he broke out:—