"Not by that name, my son. The nuns are not known in the Convent by
the names they bore before they left the world. I happen to know that
the Prioress, before she professed, was Mora, Countess of Norelle. I
know this because, years ago, I saw her at the Court, when she was a
maid of honour to the Queen; very young and lovely; yet, even then
remarkable for wisdom, piety, and a certain sweet dignity of
deportment. Sometimes now, when she receives me in the severe habit of
her Order, I find myself remembering the flow of beautiful hair, soft
as spun silk, bound by a circlet of gold round the regal head; the
velvet and ermine; the jewels at her breast. Yet do I chide myself for
recalling things which these holy women have renounced, and doubtless
would fain forget."
The Bishop struck a silver gong with his left hand.
At once a distant door opened in the dark panelling and two black-robed
figures glided in.
"Kindle a fire on the hearth," commanded the Bishop; adding to his
guest: "The evening air strikes chilly. Also I greatly love the smell
of burning wood. It is pungent to the nostrils, and refreshing to the
brain."
The monks hastened to kindle the wood and to fan it into a flame.
Presently, the fire blazing brightly, the Bishop rose, and signed to
the monks to place the chairs near the great fireplace. This they did;
and, making profound obeisance, withdrew.
Thus the Bishop and the Knight, alone once more, were seated in the
firelight.
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