Twenty minutes' walking brought me to the wood which lay between the road and the convent. I pressed on; soon the wood ceased and I found myself on the outskirts of a paddock of rough grass, where a couple of cows and half a dozen goats were pasturing; a row of stunted apple trees ran along one side of the paddock, and opposite me rose the white walls of the convent; while on my left was the burying-ground with its arched gateway, inscribed "_Mors janua vitæ_." I crossed the grass and rang a bell, that clanged again and again in echo. Nobody came. I pulled a second time and more violently. After some further delay the door was cautiously opened a little way, and a young woman looked out. She was a round-faced, red-cheeked, fresh creature, arrayed in a large close-fitting white cap, a big white collar over her shoulders, and a black gown. When she saw me, she uttered an exclamation of alarm, and pushed the door to again. Just in time I inserted my foot between door and doorpost. "I beg your pardon," said I politely, "but you evidently misunderstand me. I wish to enter." She peered at me through the two-inch gap my timely foot had preserved. "But it is impossible," she objected. "Our rules do not allow it. Indeed, I may not talk to you. I beg of you to move your foot." "But then you would shut the door." She could not deny it. "I mean no harm," I protested. "'The guile of the wicked is infinite,'" remarked the little nun. "I want to see the Mother Superior," said I. "Will you take my name to her?" I heard another step in the passage. The door was flung wide open, and a stout and stately old lady faced me, a frown on her brow. "Madame," said I, "until you hear my errand you will think me an ill-mannered fellow." "What is your business, sir?" "It is for your ear alone, madame." "You can't come in here," said she decisively. For a moment I was at a loss. Then the simplest solution in the world occurred to me. "But you can come out, madame," I suggested. She looked at me doubtfully for a minute. Then she stepped out, shutting the door carefully behind her. I caught a glimpse of the little nun's face, and thought there was a look of disappointment on it. The old lady and I began to walk along the path that led to the burying-ground. "I do not know," said I, "whether you have heard of me. My name is Aycon." "I thought so. Mr. Aycon, I must tell you that you are very much to blame. You have led this innocent, though thoughtless, child into most deplorable conduct." ("Well done, little duchess!" said I to myself; but of course I was not going to betray her.) "I deeply regret my thoughtlessness," said I earnestly. "I would, however, observe that the present position of the duchess is not due to my--shall we say misconduct?--but to that of her husband. I did not invite--" "Don't mention her name!" interrupted the Mother Superior in horror.