"But what's your opinion about that, Padre Salvi?" he asked the
Franciscan, who seemed to be absorbed in thought. "Doesn't it seem to
you as though his Grace, instead of giving her a cave, ought to have
placed her in a nunnery--in St. Clara's, for example? What do you say?"

There was a start of surprise on Padre Sibyla's part to notice that
Padre Salvi shuddered and looked askance at Simoun.

"Because it's not a very gallant act," continued Simoun quite
naturally, "to give a rocky cliff as a home to one with whose
hopes we have trifled. It's hardly religious to expose her thus to
temptation, in a cave on the banks of a river--it smacks of nymphs and
dryads. It would have been more gallant, more pious, more romantic,
more in keeping with the customs of this country, to shut her up in
St. Clara's, like a new Eloise, in order to visit and console her
from time to time."

"I neither can nor should pass judgment upon the conduct of
archbishops," replied the Franciscan sourly.

"But you, who are the ecclesiastical governor, acting in the place
of our Archbishop, what would you do if such a case should arise?"

Padre Salvi shrugged his shoulders and calmly responded, "It's not
worth while thinking about what can't happen. But speaking of legends,
don't overlook the most beautiful, since it is the truest: that of
the miracle of St. Nicholas, the ruins of whose church you may have
noticed. I'm going to relate it to Señor Simoun, as he probably hasn't
heard it. It seems that formerly the river, as well as the lake,