THE AMERICAN
and then raised his eyes to her face. He felt in them the rising tears of rage. "What do you mean to do? Where are you going?"
"Where I shall give no more pain and suspect no more evil. I'm going out of the world."
"Out of the world?"
"I 'm going into a convent."
"Into a convent!" He repeated the words with the deepest dismay; it was as if she had said she was going into an hospital for incurables. "Into a convent—you!"
"I told you that it was not for my worldly advantage or pleasure I was leaving you."
But still he hardly understood. "You 're going to be a nun," he went on; "in a cell—for life—with a gown and a black veil?"
"A nun—a blest Carmelite nun," said Madame de Cintré. "For life, with God's leave and mercy."
The image rose there, at her words, too dark and horrible for belief, and affected him as if she had told him she was going to mutilate her beautiful face or drink some potion that would make her mad. He clasped his hands and began to tremble visibly. "Madame de Cintré, don't, don't, I beseech you! On my knees, if you like, I'll beseech you."
She laid her hand on his arm with a tender, pitying, almost reassuring gesture. "You don't understand, you 've wrong ideas. It's nothing horrible. It 's only peace and safety. It 's to be out of the world, where such troubles as this come to the innocent, to the best. And for life—that's the blessing of it! They can't begin again."
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