"
The rubies on the Knight's breast suddenly glittered, as if a bound of
his heart had caused them all to leap together. But, except for that
quick sparkle, he sat immovable, and made no sign.
The Bishop had marked the gleam of the rubies.
He lifted his Venetian goblet to the light and observed it carefully,
as he continued: "The Prioress--a most wise and noble lady, of whom I
told you on the day when you first questioned me concerning the
Nunnery--has been having trouble with a nun, by name Sister Mary
Seraphine. This young and lovely lady has, just lately, heard the
world loudly calling--on her own shewing, through the neighing of a
palfrey bringing to mind past scenes of gaiety. But--the Prioress
suspicioned the voice of an earthly lover; and I, knowing how reckless
and resolute an earthly lover was attempting to invade the Nunnery, we
both--the Prioress and I--drew our own conclusions, and proceeded to
face the problem with which we found ourselves confronted,
namely:--whether to allow or to thwart the flight of Seraphine."
The Knight, toying with walnuts, held at the moment four in the palm of
his right hand. They broke with a four-fold crack, which sounded but
as one mighty crunch. Then, all unconscious of what he did, the Knight
opened his great hand and let fall upon the table, a little heap of
crushed nuts, shells and white flesh inextricably mixed.
The Bishop glanced at the small heap. The veiled twinkle in his eyes
seemed to say; "So much for Seraphine!"
"I know not any lady of that name," said the Knight.
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