The poem is spoken by a guide leading visitors through what seems to be a religious house or similar institution, though the poem never says so outright. The guide points out an old French cabinet now used for urns of ashes, then introduces "our hermitess," a woman who lives there in near-seclusion. Her door is closed, and the guide answers visitors' questions, sometimes correcting them mid-thought ("No. No socks.").
What stands out is the gap between what the guide says and what the visitors want. They are curious and a little intrusive, asking about photographs, sketches, and her private life. The guide protects her, admitting "no one knows precisely" how she spends her days. Only small details slip through: ink, yarn, a black cat with white paws, perhaps bright socks.
The mood is quiet, gently humorous, and respectful of mystery. When the guide moves on to the tapestry, the hermitess stays unexplained, and the poem seems to say that some lives deserve to be left private.