To such a degree did these superstitious fears assail me, I felt as though I would endure any amount of physical suffering rather than stay there another night. Resolved to brave everything, I went to a priest and asked permission to speak to him. It was an unusual thing, and I think his curiosity was excited, for it was only in extreme cases that a nun ventures to appeal to a priest When I told him my story, he seemed much surprised, and asked by whose order my bed was moved to that room. I informed him of all the particulars, when he ordered me to move my bed back again. "No one," said he, "has slept in that room for years, and we do not wish any one to sleep there." I accordingly moved the bed back, and as I had permission from the priest, the Abbess dared not find fault with me. CHAPTER XX. STUDENTS AT THE ACADEMY. Through the winter I continued to work as usual, leading the same dull, dreary, and monotonous life, varied only by pains, and privations. In the spring a slight change was made in the household arrangements, and for a short time I assisted some of the other nuns to do the chamber work for the students at the academy. There was an under-ground passage from the convent to the cellar of the academy through which we passed. Before we entered, the doors and windows were securely fastened, and the students ordered to leave their rooms, and not return again till we had left. They were also forbidden to speak to us, but whenever the teachers were away, they were sure to come back to their rooms, and ask us all manner of questions. They wished to know, they said, how long we were going to stay in the convent, if we really enjoyed the life we had chosen, and were happy in our retirement; if we had not rather return to the world, go into company, get married, etc. I suppose they really thought that we could leave at any time if we chose. But we did not dare to answer their questions, or let them know the truth. One day, when we went to do the work, we found in one of the rooms, some men who were engaged in painting. They asked us if we were contented. We did not dare to reply, lest they should betray us. They then began to make remarks about us, some of which I well remember. One of them said, "I don't believe they are used very well; they look as though they were half starved." Another replied, "I know they do; there is certainly something wrong about these convents, or the nuns would not all look so pale and thin." I suspect the man little thought how much truth there was in his remarks.