can prove, some act of villainy committed by his father, who, though he ended his life as an eminent banker at Florence, began it as a money-lender at Leghorn.  Count Nobili’s father filled in a blank check which a client had incautiously left in his hands, to an enormous amount, or something of that kind, I believe.  I refused to notice this circumstance legally, feeling sure that we were strong enough without it.  I was also sure that giving publicity to such a fact would only prejudice the position of the future husband of the marchesa’s niece.  To return.  Fortunately, Count Nobili’s lawyer saw the case as I put it to him.  Count-Nobili will, undoubtedly, be here at two o’clock.”  Again the lawyer took out his watch, looked at it, and replaced it with rapidity.  “A good deal of hard work is comprised in that sentence, ’Count Nobili will be here!’” Again there was the ghost of a smile.  “Lawyers must not always be judged by the result.  In this case, however, the result is favorable, eminently favorable.”

Fra Pacifico’s face deepened into a look of disgust, but he said nothing.

“Count Nobili once here and joined to the young lady by the Church, we must keep him.  The spouses must pass twenty-four hours under the same roof to complete and legalize the marriage.  I am here officially, to see that Count Nobili attends at the time appointed for the ceremony.  In reality, I am here to see that Count Nobili remains.  This must be no formal union.  They must be bound together irrevocably.  You must help me, reverend sir.”

Maestro Guglielmi turned quickly upon Fra Pacifico.  His eyes ran all over him.  The priest drew back.

“I have already stretched my conscience to the utmost for the sake of the lady.  I can do nothing more.”

“But, my father, it is surely to the lady’s advantage that, if the count marries her, they should live together, that heirs should be born to them,” pleaded Guglielmi in a most persuasive voice.  “If the count separates from his wife after the ceremony, how can this be?  We do not live in the days of miracles, though we have an infallible pope.  Eh, my father?  Not in the days of miracles.”  Guglielmi gave an ironical laugh, and his eyes twinkled.  “Besides, there is the civil ceremony.”

“The Sindaco of Corellia can be present, if you please, for the civil marriage.”

“Unfortunately, there is no time to call the sindaco now,” replied Guglielmi.  “If Count Nobili remains the night in company with his bride, we shall have no difficulty about the civil marriage to-morrow.  Count Nobili will not object then.  Not likely.”

The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offensively upon the priest’s ear.  Fra Pacifico began to think Maestro Guglielmi intolerable.

“That is your affair.  I will undertake no further responsibility,” responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly.

“You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help me?” And Guglielmi contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly with all the lightnings he could bring to bear upon him.  To his amazement, he produced no effect whatever.  Fra Pacifico remained silent.  Altogether this was a priest different from any he had ever met with—­Guglielmi hated priests—­he began to be interested in Fra Pacifico.