“Peace on earth, good will to men!  Peace—­on—­earth—­good—­will—­to--men!” they seemed to say over and over again, till my ears ached with the repetition.  Peace!  What had I to do with peace or good-will?  The Christ Mass could teach me nothing.  I was as one apart from human life-an alien from its customs and affections—­for me no love, no brotherhood remained.  The swinging song of the chimes jarred my nerves.  Why, I thought, should the wild erring world, with all its wicked men and women, presume to rejoice at the birth of the Saviour?—­they, who were not worthy to be saved!  I turned swiftly away; I strode fiercely past the kingly pines that, now thoroughly awakened, seemed to note me with a stern disdain as though they said among themselves:  “What manner of small creature is this that torments himself with passions unknown to us in our calm converse with the stars?”

I was glad when I stood again on the high-road, and infinitely relieved when I heard the rapid trot of horses rumbling of wheels, and saw my closed brougham, drawn by its prancing black Arabians, approaching.  I walked to meet it; the coachman seeing me drew up instantly, I bade him take me to the Convento dell’Annunziata, and entering the carriage, I was driven rapidly away.

The convent was situated, I knew, somewhere between Naples and Sorrento.  I guessed it to be near Castellamare, but it was fully three miles beyond that, and was a somewhat long drive of more than two hours.  It lay a good distance out of the direct route, and was only attained by a by-road, which from its rough and broken condition was evidently not much frequented.  The building stood apart from all other habitations in a large open piece of ground, fenced in by a high stone wall spiked at the top.  Roses climbed thickly among the spikes, and almost hid their sharp points from view, and from a perfect nest of green foliage, the slender spire of the convent chapel rose into the sky like a white finger pointing to heaven.  My coachman drew up before the heavily barred gates.  I alighted, and bade him take the carriage to the principal hostelry at Castellamare, and wait for me there.  As soon as he had driven off, I rang the convent bell.  A little wicket fixed in the gate opened immediately, and the wrinkled visage of a very old and ugly nun looked out.  She demanded in low tones what I sought.  I handed her my card, and stated my desire to see the Countess Romani, if agreeable to the superioress.  While I spoke she looked at me curiously—­my spectacles, I suppose, excited her wonder—­for I had replaced these disguising glasses immediately on leaving the scene of the duel—­I needed them yet a little while longer.  After peering at me a minute or two with her bleared and aged eyes, she shut the wicket in my face with a smart click and disappeared.  While I awaited her return I heard the sound of children’s laughter and light footsteps running trippingly on the stone passage within.