Enrica shook her head.  That snake crawling between them was the first warning to her that she was still on earth.  Till then it had seemed to her that Nobili’s presence must be like paradise.  Now for a moment a terrible doubt crept over her.  Could happiness be sad?  It must be so, for now she could not tell whether she was sad or happy.

“Oh! do not say too much, dear Nobili,” she repeated almost to herself, “or—­” Her voice dropped.  She looked toward the spot where the snake had fallen, and shuddered.

Nobili did not then reply, but, taking Enrica by the hand, he led her up a flight of steps to a higher terrace, where a cypress avenue threw long shadows across the marble pavement.

“You are mine,” he whispered, “mine—­as by a miracle!”

There was such rapture in his voice that heaven came down into her heart, and every doubt was stilled.

At this moment Fra Pacifico’s towering figure appeared ascending a lower flight of steps toward them, coming from the house.  He trod with that firm, grand step churchmen have in common with actors—­only the stage upon which each treads is different.  Behind Fra Pacifico was the short, plump figure and the white hat of Cavaliere Trenta (a dwarf beside the priest), his rosy face rosier than ever from the rapid drive from Lucca.  Trenta’s kind eyes twinkled under his white eyebrows as he spied Enrica above, standing side by side with Nobili.  How different the dear child looked from that last time he had seen her at Lucca!

Enrica flew down the steps to meet him.  She threw her arms round his neck.  Count Nobili followed her; he shook hands with the cavaliere and Fra Pacifico.

“His reverence and I thought we should find you two together,” said Cavaliere Trenta, with a chuckle.  “Count Nobili, I wish you joy.”

His voice faltered a little, and a spotless handkerchief was drawn out and called into service.  Nobili reddened, then bowed with formal courtesy.

“It is all come right, I see.”—­Trenta gave a sly glance from one to the other, though the tears were in his eyes.—­“I shall live to open the marriage-ball on the first floor of the palace yet.  Bagatella!  I would have tried to give the dear child to you myself, had I known how much she loved you—­but you have taken her.  Well, well—­possession is better than gift.”

“She gave herself to me, cavaliere.  Last night’s work only made the gift public,” was Nobili’s reply.

There was a tone of triumph in Nobili’s voice as he said this.  He stooped and pressed his lips to Enrica’s hand.  Enrica stood by with downcast eyes—­a spray of pink oleander swaying from the terrace-wall in the light breeze above her head, for background.

The old cavaliere nodded his head, round which the little curls set faultlessly under his white hat.

“My dear Count Nobili, permit me to offer my advice.  You must settle this matter at once—­at once, I say;” and Trenta struck his stick upon the marble balustrade for greater emphasis.