The monk again interposed.

“This interview must end,” he said.  “The eyes drawn upon us by your indiscreet music, are now turned on other objects, Signore, and you must break your faith, or depart.”

“Alone, father?”

“Is the Donna Violetta to quit the roof of her father with as little warning as an unfavored dependant?”

“Nay, Signor Monforte, you could not, in reason, have expected more, in this interview, than the hope of some future termination to your suit—–­ some pledge—­”

“And that pledge?”

The eye of Violetta turned from her governess to her lover, from her lover to the monk, and from the latter to the floor.

“Is thine, Camillo.”

A common cry escaped the Carmelite and the governess.

“Thy mercy, excellent friends,” continued the blushing but decided Violetta.  “If I have encouraged Don Camillo, in a manner that thy counsels and maiden modesty would reprove, reflect that had he hesitated to cast himself into the Giudecca, I should have wanted the power to confer this trifling grace.  Why should I be less generous than my preserver?  No, Camillo, when the senate condemns me to wed another than thee, it pronounces the doom of celibacy; I will hide my griefs in a convent till I die!”

There was a solemn and fearful interruption to a discourse which was so rapidly becoming explicit, by the sound of the bell, that the groom of the chambers, a long-tried and confidential domestic, had been commanded to ring before he entered.  As this injunction had been accompanied by another not to appear, unless summoned, or urged by some grave motive, the signal caused a sudden pause, even at that interesting moment.

“How now!” exclaimed the Carmelite to the servant, who abruptly entered.  “What means this disregard of my injunctions?”

“Father, the Republic!”

“Is St. Mark in jeopardy, that females and priests are summoned to aid him?”

“There are officials of the state below, who demand admission in the name of the Republic?”

“This grows serious,” said Don Camillo, who alone retained his self-possession.  “My visit is known, and the active jealousy of the state anticipates its object.  Summon your resolution, Donna Violetta, and you, father, be of heart!  I will assume the responsibility of the offence, if offence it be, and exonerate all others from censure.”

“Forbid it, Father Anselmo.  Dearest Florinda, we will share his punishment!” exclaimed the terrified Violetta, losing all self-command in the fear of such a moment.  “He has not been guilty of this indiscretion without participation of mine; he has not presumed beyond his encouragement.”

The monk and Donna Florinda regarded each other in mute amazement, and haply there was some admixture of feeling in the look that denoted the uselessness of caution when the passions were intent to elude the vigilance of those who were merely prompted by prudence.  The former simply motioned for silence, while he turned to the domestic.