to Muran. I live near the church, on the garden side, and I am always at
home when I am not engaged in the service of the nuns, who are always
sending me on one commission or another. The young lady--I do not know
her name yet, for she has only been one week with us--gave me this
letter, but so cleverly! Oh! she must be as witty as she is pretty, for
three nuns who were there were completely bamboozled. She gave it to me
with this other letter for myself, which I likewise leave in your hands.
Poor child! she tells me to be discreet! She need not be afraid. Write to
her, I entreat you, sir, that she can trust me, and answer boldly. I
would not tell you to act in the same manner with all the other
messengers of the convent, although I believe them to be honest--and God
forbid I should speak ill of my fellow-creature--but they are all
ignorant, you see; and it is certain that they babble, at least, with
their confessors, if with nobody else. As for me, thank God! I know very
well that I need not confess anything but my sins, and surely to carry a
letter from a Christian woman to her brother in Christ is not a sin.
Besides, my confessor is a good old monk, quite deaf, I believe, for the
worthy man never answers me; but that is his business, not mine!"

I had not intended to ask her any questions, but if such had been my
intention she would not have given me time to carry it into execution;
and without my asking her anything, she was telling me everything I cared
to know, and she did so in her anxiety for me to avail myself of her
services exclusively.

I immediately sat down to write to my dear recluse, intending at first to
write only a few lines, as she had requested me; but my time was too
short to write so little. My letter was a screed of four pages, and very
likely it said less than her note of one short page. I told her her
letter had saved my life, and asked her whether I could hope to see her.