"'Look at your prayer-book, Antonio. Now what are you looking at?'
"'You, my father.'
"'Antonio, look at the image of the Virgin. What are you looking at now?'
"'You, my father.'
"'Antonio, look at the crucifix which we adore.'
"Don Enguerrand began to notice, after a time, upon searching his conscience, that since Antonio's reception into the community he had been more troubled than formerly by evil thoughts. Never before had he sinned more than seven times a day, which, as we all know, is the reckoning of the saints,—sometimes even he had examined his conduct for the day without being able to find more than five or six sins, an extraordinary thing. But now the total of his daily peccadillos mounted as high as ten, twelve, or even fifteen. He would try to make up for it on the following day; he would pray and fast and scourge himself, would the worthy man. Ah! but the farther he went, the greater became the reckoning, until at last it reached a full score. Poor Don Enguerrand knew not which way to turn; he felt that he was damned in spite of all he could do, and he noticed—an observation which might have comforted another, but which increased his consternation—that his most austere monks were under the same strange, incredible, incomprehensible influence; so that their confession, which formerly lasted twenty minutes, half an hour, or an hour at most, now occupied several hours.
"About this time, an occurrence which had been creating a great stir in the province for a month past at last became known at the convent. The lord of a castle near by had lost his daughter Antonia. Antonia had disappeared one fine evening exactly as my poor Colombe has disappeared. But there is this difference: I am sure that Colombe is an angel, while it seems that Antonia was possessed of the devil. The poor father had sought the fugitive high and low, just as Monsieur le Prévôt has sought Colombe. Only the convent remained to be visited, and as he knew that the evil spirit, the better to elude search, sometimes conceals himself in monasteries, he sent his chaplain to Don Enguerrand to ask permission to make search in his. The prior assented, with the best possible grace. Perhaps, he thought, he might by means of this visit discover something concerning the magic influence which had been weighing upon him and his brethren for a month past. But no! the search had no result whatever, and the nobleman was about to retire more despairing than ever, when all the monks passed in procession before him and Don Enguerrand, on their way to the chapel for the evening service. He looked at them mechanically, one after another, until the last one passed, when he cried out:—
"'God in heaven! that is Antonia! that is my daughter!'
"Antonia, for it was she, became as pale as a lily.
"'What are you doing in this sacred garb?' continued the father.