“I do not wish to know it,” replied Taquisara.  “Especially not, if it concerns many people.”

A short silence followed, during which neither moved, nor looked at the other.

“Don Teodoro,” asked the Sicilian, at last, in a low voice, “please tell me your view of the case, as a priest.  Am I, at the present moment, in consequence of what happened a fortnight ago, actually married to Donna Veronica, or not?”

The priest hesitated, looked down, took off his spectacles, and put them on again, before he answered the question.

“I think,” he said, “that most people, if any had been present, would be of opinion that it was enough of a marriage to require a formal annullation before any other could take place.  I should certainly not dare to consider the princess and Don Gianluca as married, when it was you who held her right hand, and received the benediction with her in the prescribed attitude.”

“Yes,” answered Taquisara; “but in your own individual opinion, as a priest, am I married to her, or not?”

“As a priest, I can have no individual opinion.  I can tell you, of course, that the marriage can be annulled.  In the first place, you neither of you had the intention of being married to each other.  In all the sacraments, the intention of those to whom they are administered is the prime consideration.  It would only be necessary for you and the princess to swear that you had no intention of being married, and that it was, to the best of your knowledge, entirely an accident, and all difficulties could be removed.”

“Ah, yes!  But then Donna Veronica would know, and Gianluca would have to know it, too.  I came here to tell you that they are seriously thinking of sending for the syndic, to publish the banns of marriage at the municipality and marry them legally, after which the Duca and Duchessa will go to Avellino, and leave them here together.  Whether it costs your existence or mine, Don Teodoro, this thing shall not be done.”

“No,” said Don Teodoro.  “It shall not.  You are in a terrible position yourself.  I feel for you.”

“I?” Taquisara bent his brows.  “I, in a terrible position?”

“Do not be angry,” answered the priest, gently.  “I know your secret well enough, though she does not guess it yet.  Do not think me indiscreet because I mention the fact.  It would be far better if you could go away for the present.  But I know how you are situated, and you are helping to prevent mischief.  We must help each other.  If it is to cost the existence of one of us, it shall be mine.  You are young, and I am old.  And that is not the only reason.  My secret is not like yours.  I cannot let it go down into the grave with me.  I have kept it long enough, and I should have kept it longer, if this had not happened.  I shall probably go to Naples to-morrow.  You must prevent them from publishing the banns until I come back, or until you hear from me.  I may never come back.  It is possible.”