The girl lingered, and her watchful observers noted suspicion and hesitation in her reluctant manner of compliance.  She obeyed, however, leaving the room with the domestic Donna Violetta summoned from the antechamber.  The instant the door was closed behind her, Don Camillo was in the group, and the whole four stood regarding each other in a common panic.

“Canst thou still hesitate, father?” demanded the lover.

“Not a moment, my son, did I see the means of accomplishing flight.”

“How!  Thou wilt not then desert me!” exclaimed Violetta, kissing his hands in joy.  “Nor thou, my second mother!”

“Neither,” answered the governess, who possessed intuitive means of comprehending the resolutions of the monk; “we will go with thee, love, to the Castle of St. Agata, or to the dungeon of St. Mark.”

“Virtuous and sainted Florinda, receive my thanks!” cried the reprieved Violetta, clasping her hands on her bosom, with an emotion in which piety and gratitude were mingled.  “Camillo, we await thy guidance.”

“Refrain,” observed the monk; “a footstep—­thy concealment.”

Don Camillo was scarce hid from view when Annina reappeared.  She had the same suspicious manner of glancing her eye around, as the official, and it would seem, by the idle question she put, that her entrance had some other object than the mere pretence which she made of consulting her new mistress’s humor in the color of a robe.

“Do as thou wilt, girl,” said Violetta, with impatience; “thou knowest the place of my intended retirement, and can’st judge of the fitness of my attire.  Hasten thy preparations, that I be not the cause of delay.  Enrico, attend my new maid to the wardrobe.”

Annina reluctantly withdrew, for she was far too much practised in wiles not to distrust this unexpected compliance with the will of the council, or not to perceive that she was admitted with displeasure to the discharge of her new duties.  As the faithful domestic of Donna Violetta kept at her side, she was fain, however, to submit, and suffered herself to be led a few steps from the door.  Suddenly pretending to recollect a new question, she returned with so much rapidity as to be again in the room before Enrico could anticipate the intention.

“Daughter, complete thy errands, and forbear to interrupt our privacy,” said the monk, sternly.  “I am about to confess this penitent, who may pine long for the consolations of the holy office ere we meet again.  If thou hast not aught urgent, withdraw, ere thou seriously givest offence to the church.”

The severity of the Carmelite’s tone, and the commanding, though subdued gleaming of his eye, had the effect to awe the girl.  Quailing before his look, and in truth startled at the risk she ran in offending against opinions so deeply seated in the minds of all, and from which her own superstitious habits were far from free, she muttered a few words of apology, and finally withdrew.  There was another uneasy and suspicious glance thrown around her, however, before the door was closed.  When they were once more alone, the monk motioned for silence to the impetuous Don Camillo, who could scarce restrain his impatience until the intruder departed.