“I quite agree with you,” put in Fra Pacifico in his deep voice.  “The impression made by your courage last night must not be lost by delay.  I never saw an act of greater daring.  Had you not come, I should have tried to save Enrica, but I am past my prime; I should have failed.”

“You cannot count on the marchesa’s gratitude,” continued Trenta; “an excellent lady, and my oldest friend, but proud and capricious.  You must take her like the wind when it blows—­ha! ha! like the wind.  I am come here to help you both.”

“Cavaliere,” said Nobili, turning toward him (his vagrant eyes had wandered off to Enrica, so charming, with the pink oleander and its dark-green leaves waving above her blond head), “do me the favor to ask the Marchesa Guinigi at what hour she will admit me to sign the marriage-contract.  I have pressing business that calls me back to Lucca to-day.”

“So soon, dear Nobili?” a soft voice whispered at his ear, “so soon?” And then there was a sigh.  Surely her paradise was very brief!  Enrica had thought in her simplicity that, once met, they two never should part again, but spend the live-long days together side by side among the woods, lingering by flowing streams; or in the rich shade of purple vine-bowers; or in mossy caves, shaded by tall ferns, hid on the mountain-side, and let time and the world roll by.  This was the life she dreamed of.  Could any grief be there?

“Yes, love,” Nobili answered to her question.  “I must return to Lucca to-night.  I started on the instant, as the cavaliere knows.  Before I go, however, all must be settled about our marriage, and the contract signed.  I will take no denial.”

Nobili spoke with the determination that was in him.  Enrica’s heart gave a bound.  “The contract!” She had never thought of that.  “The contract and the marriage!”—­“Both close at hand!—­Then the life she dreamed of must come true in very earnest!”

The cavaliere looked doubtingly at Fra Pacifico.  Fra Pacifico shrugged his big shoulders, looked back again at Cavaliere Trenta, and smiled rather grimly.  There was always a sense of suppressed power, moral and physical, about Fra Pacifico.  In conversation he had a way of leaving the burden of small talk to others, and of reserving himself for special occasions; but when he spoke he must be listened to.

“Quick work, my dear count,” was all the priest said to Nobili in answer.  “Do you think you can insure the marchesa’s consent?” Now he addressed the cavaliere.

“Oh, my friend will be reasonable, no doubt.  After last night, she must consent.”  The cavaliere was always ready to put the best construction upon every thing.  “If she raises any obstacles, I think I shall be able to remove them.”

“Consent!” cried Nobili, fiercely echoing back the word, “she must consent—­she will be mad to refuse.”

“Well—­well—­we shall see.—­You, Count Nobili, have done all to make it sure.  The terms of the contract (I have heard of them from Fra Pacifico) are princely.”  A look from Count Nobili stopped Trenta from saying more.