The errand of a man who carries a
bucket of water in each hand does not need to be explained. The
guard opened to let me through. I found myself in a long,
stone-flagged corridor, lit with lanterns, with the cells of the
nuns leading out from one side of it. Now at last I was on the
high road to success. I walked on without hesitation, for I knew
by my observations in the garden which way to go for the chapel.
A number of Spanish soldiers were lounging and smoking in the
corridor, several of whom addressed me as I passed. I fancy it
was for my blessing that they asked, and my "Ora pro nobis"
seemed to entirely satisfy them. Soon I had got as far as the
chapel, and it was easy enough to see that the cell next door was
used as a magazine, for the floor was all black with powder in
front of it. The door was shut, and two fierce-looking fellows
stood on guard outside it, one of them with a key stuck in his
belt. Had we been alone, it would not have been long before it
would have been in my hand, but with his comrade there it was
impossible for me to hope to take it by force.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96