"I came to Rome not of my own desire,—but obeying the will of another that imposed the pilgrimage. I have sinned, father—and yet there are moments, when I would almost glory in that which I have done. It was my purpose, while at St. Peter's to confess to the Grand Penitentiary. But—I know not why—I chose you instead, knowing that you would give truth for truth."
The monk regarded his visitor, wondering what one so young and possessed of so frank a countenance might have done amiss.
"You are a pilgrim?" he queried at last.
"For my sins—"
"Of French descent, yet not a Frenchman—"
Tristan started at the monk's penetration.
"From Provence, father," he stammered, "the land of songs and flowers—"
"And women—" the monk interposed gravely.
"There are women everywhere, father."
"There are women and women. Perchance I should say 'Woman.'"