Fra Pacifico, casting a look of unutterable pity on Enrica, whose secret it seemed sacrilege to violate while she lay helpless before them, unfolded the letter.  He and the cavaliere, standing on tiptoe at his side, his head hardly reaching the priest’s elbow, read it together.  When Trenta had finished, an expression of horror and rage came into his face.  He threw his arms wildly above his head.

“The villain!” he exclaimed, “’Gone forever!’—­’You have betrayed me!’—­’Cannot marry you!’—­’Marescotti!’”

Here Trenta stopped, remembering suddenly what had passed between himself and Count Marescotti at their interview, which he justly considered as confidential.  Trenta’s first feeling was one of amazement how Nobili had come to know it.  Then he remembered what he had said to Baldassare in the street, to quiet him, that “it was all right, and that Enrica would consent to her aunt’s commands, and to his wishes.”

“Beast!” he muttered, “this is what I get by associating with one who is no gentleman.  I’ll punish him!”

A blank terror took possession of the cavaliere.  He glanced at Enrica, so life-like with her fixed, open eyes, and asked himself, if she recovered, would she ever forgive him?

“I did it for the best!” he murmured, shaking his white head.  “God knows I did it for the best!—­the dear, blessed one!—­to give her a home, and a husband to protect her.  I knew nothing about Count Nobili.—­Why did you not tell me, my sweetest?” he said, leaning over the bed, and addressing Enrica in his bewilderment.

Alas! the glassy blue eyes stared at him fixedly, the white lips were motionless.

The effect of all this on Fra Pacifico had been very different.  Under the strongest excitement, the long habit of his office had taught him a certain outward composure.  He was ignorant of much which was known to the cavaliere.  Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with grave curiosity.

“What does this mean about Count Marescotti?” he asked, somewhat sternly.  “What has Count Marescotti to do with her?”

As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over Enrica.  Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong man.  His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose, Fra Pacifico always said.

“I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti,” answered the cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest’s suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach.  “What do you think I could have done but this?”

“And Count Marescotti refused her?”

“Yes, he refused her because he was a communist.  Nothing passed between them, nothing.  They never met but twice, both times in my presence.”

Fra Pacifico was satisfied.

“God be praised!” he muttered to himself.

Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned toward Enrica.  Again he felt her pulse, and passed his broad hand across her forehead.