The prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a bench at no great distance. I heard her in an angry tone blame her companion’s continual melancholy: she told her that to weep the loss of any lover in her situation was a crime; but that to weep the loss of a faithless one was folly and absurdity in the extreme. Agnes replied in so low a voice that I could not distinguish her words, but I perceived that she used terms of gentleness and submission. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a young pensioner who informed the domina that she was waited for in the parlour. The old lady rose, kissed the cheek of Agnes, and retired. The newcomer remained. Agnes spoke much to her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, but her auditor seemed highly delighted, and interested by the conversation. The nun showed her several letters; the other perused them with evident pleasure, obtained permission to copy them, and withdrew for that purpose to my great satisfaction.