The old man looked up sadly and tenderly, and answered in a low voice, meant only for her ear—
‘And how can I help weeping, when I see anything as beautiful as you are destined to the flames of hell for ever?’
‘The flames of hell?’ said Pelagia, with a shudder. ‘What for?’
‘Do you not know?’ asked the old man, with a look of sad surprise. ‘Have you forgotten what you are?’
‘I? I never hurt a fly!’
‘Why do you look so terrified, my darling? What have you been saying to her, you old villain?’ and the Amal raised his whip.
‘Oh! do not strike him. Come, come to-morrow, and tell me what you mean.’
‘No, we will have no monks within our doors, frightening silly women. Off, sirrah! and thank the lady that you have escaped with a whole skin.’ And the Amal caught the bridle of Pelagia’s mule, and pushed forward, leaving the old man gazing sadly after them.
But the beautiful sinner was evidently not the object which had brought the old monk of the desert into a neighbourhood so strange and ungenial to his habits; for, recovering himself in a few moments, he hurried on to the door of the Museum, and there planted himself, scanning earnestly the faces of the passers-out, and meeting, of course, with his due share of student ribaldry.
‘Well, old cat, and what mouse are you on the watch for, at the hole’s mouth here?’