They were both silent; then she turned towards the door.
Her splendid dress was as incongruous here as it had been in the wet fields; it jarred on Luc to see her in such surroundings.
He turned suddenly and followed her. “You beautiful, foolish woman,” he cried, “what are you doing in a convent? Go back to Versailles.”
“Is that your advice to me?” she asked slowly.
“Advice! I know not—but this is death.”
“Yes, death,” answered Carola.
She lifted the latch of the door.
“Will you pray for me?” smiled Luc.
“Yes.”
“Then put your prayers this way—that if I am stricken I may die.”