So she discovered the doings of the monk upon the street, and through her slave, who was on confidential terms with the slave of the wicked courtesan, she heard the truth about him. She meditated for a while, growing more and more dissatisfied, while her sympathy for the monk increased, though it was intermingled with an odd feeling of indignation. Suddenly she resolved that if the Virgin Mary had not enough common sense to lead the wandering one back upon a respectable road, she herself would undertake to do so. She thereupon went to her father, complained bitterly about the improper neighbourhood, and begged him to remove the objectionable person. A certain sum being offered for the house, the courtesan left it that very hour, while the old Greek returned to his Plato and gave the matter no second thought. Not so did Jole. She had everything removed from the little house which bore any relation to its former occupant, and when it had been swept and cleaned it was perfumed with incense, and clouds of fragrant smoke poured from the windows. Then she had the empty room furnished with nought but a rug, a potted rose-bush, and a lamp, and when her father, who was wont to retire at sunset, had gone to sleep, she went over there herself, with a wreath of roses on her head, and sat down on the rug, while two trusty servants guarded the outside door. They concealed themselves as Vitalis approached, and allowed him to enter. What was his surprise as he stepped into the room to find it emptied of all the tawdry finery of the red lioness, and instead of the latter a slender and graceful little person sitting upon the rug, with the little rose-bush opposite! “Where is the lost one that dwelt here?” he cried, looking about him, and then fixing his eyes upon the lovely apparition before him. “She has gone into the desert,” replied Jole, without looking up, “where she will lead a hermit’s life, and do penance.” “Praised be the Lord and His gracious Mother!” cried Vitalis, folding his hands with pious cheerfulness, while it seemed as if a stone rolled from his heart; at the same time he gave a curious glance at the girl and her wreath of roses, and said-- “And who art thou? From whence comest thou, and what is thy purpose?” Sweet Jole lowered her dark eyes still more, while deep blushes covered her face, for she was greatly ashamed of the wicked things she was about to say to this man. “I am an orphan,” she said, “and this rug, this lamp, and this rose-bush is all that is left me of my possessions. So I have resolved to begin life where the other woman left it who was here before me!” “The deuce you will!” cried the monk, beating his hands together. “Alack-a-day, how busy Satan is! And this harmless little creature tells me the thing as dryly as if I were not the monk Vitalis! Well, tell me again, pussy, what is it you will do?”