of color upon her oval face—­but the freshness of girlhood was gone.  Enrica had made a desperate effort to be calm.  Nobili was under the same roof—­in the same room—­Nobili was beside her.  Would he not show some sign that he still loved her?—­Else why had he come?—­One glance at him was enough.  Oh! he was changed!—­She could not bear it.  Enrica would have fled had not Trenta held her.  The marchesa, too, advanced a step or two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with terror.  Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere.  He led her gently forward, and placed her beside Count Nobili standing at the altar.  Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered—­she seemed about to fall.  No hand was stretched out to help her.

Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered.  His face was averted.  The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on either side.  The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the altar.  Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails.  Pipa peeped in at the open doorway.  Her eyes were red with weeping.  Pipa looked round aghast.

“What a marriage was this!  More like a death than a marriage!  She would not have married so—­not if it had cost her her life—­no music, no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine.  None had even changed their clothes but the cavaliere and the signorina.  And a bridegroom like that!—­a statue—­not a living man!  And the signorina—­poverina—­hardly able to stand upon her feet!  The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so weak.”

Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs.  Then Fra Pacifico’s impressive voice broke the silence with the opening words of exhortation.

“Deus Israel sit vobiscum.”

“Gloria patri,” was the response in Angelo’s childish treble.

Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side.  Two lighted tapers, typical of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand.  The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered.  The tall candles flickered, Enrica and Nobili knelt side by side—­the man who had ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not confess her love!

As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili’s face hardened.  Was not the basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him?  Her lawyer, too, taking notes of every look and gesture?

“Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?” asked the priest.  Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he put this question.

A hot flush overspread Nobili’s face.  He opened his lips to speak, but no words were audible.  Would the words not come, or would Nobili at the last moment refuse to utter them?

“Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?” sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him.

“I will,” answered Nobili.  Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had mastered them.