The poor girl drew her mantellina about her and began to walk very fast, as if she had not seen her uncle.
"Where have you been, Mila?" was the greeting which brought her to a standstill, uttered as it was in a tone which admitted of no hesitation.
"Why! uncle," she replied, putting aside her veil, "I didn't see you; the sun was in my eyes."
"Where have you been?" repeated the monk, not deigning to discuss the probable truth of that reply.
"Well, uncle," said Mila, resolutely, "I will not tell you a lie; I saw you plainly."
"I know it; but will you tell me where you have been?"
"I have been to the convent, uncle. I was looking for you, and, not finding you, I was going back to the city."
"What was it that you were in such a hurry to say to me, my dear girl? It must be very important, for you to dare to come out into the country alone, contrary to your habit. Come, answer me! You say nothing! You cannot lie, Mila!"
"Yes, uncle, yes! I came——" And she stopped short, completely at a loss, for she had made no preparations for this meeting, and her wits abandoned her.
"You are losing your head, Mila," rejoined the monk, "for I tell you that you do not know how to lie, and you answer 'Yes!' Thank heaven, you don't know what you are saying! Do not try to lie, my child, but tell me frankly where you have been."