Fra Pacifico lived at the back of the old Lombard church of Santa Barbara, in a house overlooking a damp square, overgrown with moss and weeds.  Between the tower where the bells hung, and the body of the church, an open loggia (balcony), roofed with wood and tiles, rested on slender pillars.  In the loggia, Fra Pacifico, when at leisure, would sit and rest and read his breviary; sometimes smoke a solitary pipe—­stretching out his shapely legs in the luxury of doing nothing.  Behind the loggia were the priest’s four rooms, bare even for the bareness of that squalid place.  He kept no servant, but it was counted an honor to serve him, and the mothers of Corellia came by turns to cook and wash for him.

Fra Pacifico, as I have said, had risen at daybreak.  Now he is searching to find a messenger to send to Lucca, as the marchesa had desired, to summon Cavaliere Trenta.  That done, he takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the church-door.  Here, kneeling at the altar, he celebrates a private mass of thanksgiving for the marchesa and Enrica.  Then, with long strides, he descends the hill to see what is doing at the villa.

CHAPTER V.

“SAY NOT TOO MUCH.”

The sun was streaming on mountain and forest before Count Nobili woke from a deep sleep.  As he cast his drowsy eyes around upon the homely little room, the coarsely-painted frescoes on the walls—­the gaudy cups and plates arranged in a cupboard opposite the bed—­and on a wax Gesu Bambino, placed in state upon the mantel-piece, surrounded by a flock of blue sheep, browsing on purple grass, he could not at first remember where he was.  The noises from the square below—­the clink of the donkey’s hoofs upon the pavement as they struggled up the steep alley laden with charcoal; the screams of children—­the clamor of women’s voices moving to and fro with their wooden shoes—­and the boom of the church-bells sounding overhead for morning mass—­came to him as in a dream.

As he raised his hand to push back the hair which fell over his eyes, a sharp twitch of pain—­for his hands were scorched and blistered—­brought all that had happened vividly before him.  A warmth of joy and love glowed at his heart.  He had saved Enrica’s life.  Henceforth that life was his.  From that day they would never part.  From that day, forgetting all others, he would live for her alone.

He must see her instantly—­if possible, before his enemy, her aunt, had risen—­see Enrica, and speak to her, alone.  Oh, the luxury of that!  How he longed to feast his eyes upon the softness of her beauty!  To fill his ears with the music of her voice!  To touch her little hand, and scent the fragrance of her breath upon his cheek!  There was no thought within Nobili but love and loyalty.  At that moment Enrica was the only woman in the world whom he loved, or ever could love!