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