I dare say my face showed relief: I don't know that I need be ashamed of that. My change of expression, however, set the duchess a-laughing again. "I never saw a man look so glad," said she gayly. Yet somewhere, lurking in the recesses of her tone--or was it of her eyes?--there was a little reproach, a little challenge. And suddenly I felt less glad: a change of feeling which I do not seek to defend. "Then where are you going?" I asked in much curiosity. "I am going," said the duchess, assuming in a moment a most serious air, "into religious retirement for a few days." "Religious retirement?" I echoed in surprise. "Are you thinking it's not my _métier_?" she asked, her eyes gleaming again. "But where?" I cried. "Why, there, to be sure." And she pointed to where the square white convent stood on the edge of the bay, under the hill of Avranches. "There, at the convent. The Mother Superior is my friend, and will protect me." The duchess spoke as though the guillotine were being prepared for her. I sat silent. The situation was becoming rather too complicated for my understanding. Unfortunately, however, it was to become more complicated still; for the duchess, turning to the English tongue again, laid a hand on my arm and said in her most coaxing tones: "And you, my dear Mr. Aycon, are going to stay a few days in Avranches." "Not an hour!" would have expressed the resolve of my intellect. But we are not all intellect; and what I actually said was: "What for?" "In case," said the duchess, "I want you, Mr. Aycon." "I will stay," said I, nodding, "just a few days at Avranches." We were within half a mile of that town. The convent gleamed white in the moonlight about three hundred yards to the left. The duchess took her little bag, jumped lightly down, kissed her hand to me, and walked off. Jean had made no comment at all--the duchess' household was hard to surprise. I could make none. And we drove in silence into Avranches. When there before with Gustave, I had put up at a small inn at the foot of the hill. Now I drove up to the summit and stopped before the principal hotel. A waiter ran out, cast a curious glance at my conveyance, and lifted my luggage down. "Let me know if you get into any trouble for being late," said I to Jean, giving him another five francs. He nodded and drove off, still chewing the stump of his cheroot. "Can I have a room?" I asked, turning to the waiter. "Certainly, sir," said he, catching up my bag in his hand. "I am just come," said I, "from Mont St. Michel." A curious expression spread over the waiter's face. I fancy he knew old Jean and the cart by sight; but he spread out his hands and smiled. "Monsieur," said he with the incomparable courtesy of the French nation, "has come from wherever monsieur pleases." "That," said I, giving him a trifle, "is an excellent understanding."