She slept but a short time, and awaited the evening with impatience. She had seen what an ecstatic fire beamed within the eyes of the monk; she had seen how manly were his motions in spite of his ecclesiastical dress. When she thought of his self-renunciation, of the steadfastness with which he followed his chosen aim, she could not but wish that these good qualities might serve her own use and pleasure, in the shape of a loving and faithful husband. Hence it seemed her mission to make a good martyr into a better husband. The following night Vitalis was at his post betimes, and with undiminished ardour continued his exertions for her virtue. He was obliged to stand, except when he was kneeling in prayer. Jole, however, took her ease; she lay down upon the rug, folded her arms under her head, and watched the monk with eyes half-closed. Whenever she quite closed them Vitalis touched her with his foot to awake her. But this rough measure was always more gentle in the end than he intended, for no sooner did his foot approach the slender figure of the girl than it involuntarily slackened speed, and but softly touched her side, and, at the same time, a most wonderful sensation passed up the whole length of the tall monk--a sensation the remotest approach to which he had never experienced near any of the fair sinners he had had to do with. Toward morning an angelic smile flitted across her face, and she said: “I have listened attentively, and I now hate sin; the more so, because it is so hateful to you, and nothing can henceforth please me that displeases you!” “Is it true?” he said rapturously. “Have my efforts been crowned with success? Now, to make sure of you, come quick to the monastery!” “You misunderstand me,” replied Jole with a blush, fixing her eyes upon the ground; “I am in love with you. Now you must convert me of this new evil, and banish it; and I hope you will succeed!” Vitalis, without a word, turned and rushed out of the house. He ran out into the silvery grey morning, and considered whether he should leave this suspicious young person to her fate, or try to rid her of this last whim, which was the most fatal one of all, and, perhaps, not without danger to himself. An angry flush rose in his face at the latter thought; but then he remembered that the devil might have set this trap for him, and now was the time to flee. But supposing the poor little creature really meant well, and by a few vigorous words might be cured of this last unhealthy fancy? In short, Vitalis could arrive at no decision; the less so, because deep within his heart great waves had arisen and set his little ship of reason all a-rocking.