As she lay, she repeated with monotonous reiteration: "Trappings of
crimson, and silver bells: mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a
palfrey as white as snow!"

The Prioress entered, closed the door behind her, and looked
searchingly at the prostrate figure; then, lifting the master-key which
hung from her girdle, locked the door on the inside.

Sister Mary Seraphine had been silent long enough to hear the closing
and locking of the door.

Now she started afresh.

"Trappings of crimson, and silver bells----"

The Prioress walked over to the narrow casement, and stood looking out
at the rosy clouds wreathing a pale green sky.

"Oh! . . . Oh! . . . Oh! . . ." wailed Sister Mary Seraphine,
writhing upon the floor; "mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a
palfrey as white as snow!"

The Prioress watched the swallows on swift wing, chasing flies in the
evening light.

So complete was the silence, that Sister Mary
Seraphine--notwithstanding that turning of the key in the lock--fancied
she must be alone.

"Trappings of crimson, and silver bells!" she declaimed with vehemence;