you, Mr. Aycon."

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