"But for the last time, Rosalie," as she greeted us with her rare sweet smile. "We leave this evening. Time presses, and we would avoid to-morrow's ceremony."
"They are terrible days," returned Rosalie. "No wonder you escape them. Until they are over we keep as far as possible out of sight. You have seen Anselmo to-day, señor?"
"Yes, and wished him farewell. It was a sad moment. He alone has repaid us for our visit to Gerona. We should like to spend many days here and know him more intimately."
"Days of profit, if I may venture to say so, señor. The more you saw Anselmo, the more you would love him. It is every one's experience. Apart from his saintliness, you cannot tell on a slight acquaintance how much there is in him. His is not the goodness of a weak but of a strong nature; intellectually strong; but so refined and unambitious that to an ordinary observer it may seem passive. He is of a different order from Père Delormais, who is full of action and energy, and does so much and does all well. But Delormais was born to great things; they are his of inheritance. Anselmo had not these privileges."
"The greater merit, Rosalie; but we think you count for very much in his life. He has kept you before him, and your image has inspired him to deeper holiness."
"Ah, no, señor. Rather is it the other way. He has been my guide and king, as I told you yesterday. Anselmo is above all earthly mortals, all human aid. But you will meet him again and know him better. This your first visit to Gerona will not be your last. Few people come here, but those who do always return. I think of it as a place apart, possessing ideal beauties, a separate atmosphere. And for me," she smiled, "everything seems imbued with the charm of Anselmo. The bells ring out his name; I hear it in the song of the birds, the whispering of the trees. Romance is not dead within me because I am Sister Anastasia."
Here H. C. struck in, unable to contain himself any longer.
"If I were here very long," he cried excitedly, "I should fall madly in love with you myself, and write reams of poetry to your lovely eyes. I have never seen such eyes. They have all the light of heaven in them, and--and--all the beauty of earth."