“I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand.”
“Poor lady,” he said, “such gentle criticism would seem praise to her now.”
They were walking through a pine belt, and in the shadows of that splendid growth the snow remained icy, so that they both slipped continually and she took his arm for security.
“I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, as so austerely inclined,” he said.
She smiled: “Because I’ve been a cheerful companion––even gay? Well, my gaiety made my heart sing with the prospect of seeing again my dearest friend––my closest spiritual companion––my darling little Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally enough, good company on our three days’ journey.”
He smiled: “I never suspected you of such extreme religious inclinations,” he insisted.
“Extreme?”
“Well, a novice–––” he hesitated. Then, “And you mean, ultimately, to take the black veil?”
“Of course. I shall take it some day yet.”
He turned and looked at her, and the man in him felt the pity of it as do all men when such fresh, xiv virginal youth as was Miss Dumont’s turns an enraptured face toward that cloister door which never again opens on those who enter.