“I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi”—­the studied calmness of Nobili’s manner belied the agitation of his voice and aspect—­“you, Maestro Guglielmi, who have been called here expressly to insult me—­I invite you to advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing to offer.”

“To insult you, Count Nobili?” exclaimed Guglielmi, looking round.  (Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few hurried words upon his tablets, torn out the leaf, and slipped it into the marchesa’s hand.  So rapidly was this done, no one had perceived it.) “To insult you?  Surely not to insult you!  Allow me to explain.”

“Silence!” thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the altar.  “In the name of God, silence!  Let those who desire to wrangle choose a fitter place.  There can be no contentions in the presence of the sacrament.  The declaration of Count Nobili’s belief in the virtue of his wife I permitted.  I listened to what followed, praying that, if human aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy sacrament of marriage, might touch his heart.  In the hands of God I leave him!”

Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in the ciborium, and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest himself of his robes, which he laid one by one upon the altar.

At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel.  Count Nobili’s eyes followed her with a look of absolute loathing.  Without one glance at Enrica, still immovable, her head buried on her arms, Nobili left the altar.  He walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the chapel.  Turning his back upon all present, he took from his pocket a parchment, which he perused with deep attention.

All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official costume, his white staff of office in his right hand, had remained standing behind Enrica.  Each instant he expected to see her rise, when it would devolve on him to lead her away; but she had not stirred.  Now the cavaliere felt that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to withdraw.  Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had remained so long.

“Enrica, rise, my child,” he said, softly.  “There is nothing more to be done.  The ceremony is over.”

Still Enrica did not move.  Fra Pacifico leaned over the altar-rails, and gently raised her head.  It dropped back upon his hand—­Enrica had fainted.

This discovery caused the most terrible commotion.  Pipa, who had watched every thing from the door, screamed and ran forward.  Fra Pacifico was bending over the prostrate girl, supported in the arms of the cavaliere.

“I feared this,” Fra Pacifico whispered.  “Thank God, I believe it is only momentary!  We must carry her instantly to her room.  I will take care of her.”

“Poor, broken flower!” cried Trenta, “who will raise thee up?” His voice came thick, struggling with sobs.  “Can you see that unmoved, Count Nobili?” Trenta pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico bearing Enrica in his arms.