(His eyes are a continual curse to him; sometimes they will tell the truth.)

“But there is one point, my dear count, upon which we must understand each other.”

In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit himself to a deliberate lie.  Lying is not his practice; not on principle, for he has none.  Expediency is his faith, pliancy his creed; lying is inartistic, also dangerous.  A lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt you to your grave, perhaps beyond it.

Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that exalted personage who desired to avoid all scandal not connected with himself would be irretrievably offended, and he, Guglielmi, would never sit on the judicial bench.  Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster shuddered at the thought of what that lie might cost him.

“It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili”—­Guglielmi is speaking with pompous earnestness—­he anxiously notes the effect his words produce upon Count Nobili—­“that, unless you remain under the same roof with your wife to-night, the marriage will not be completed; therefore no separation between you will be legal.”

Nobili turned pale.  He struck his fist violently on the table.

“What! a new difficulty?  When will this torture end?”

“It will end to-morrow morning, Count Nobili.  To-morrow morning I shall have the honor of waiting upon you, in company with the Mayor of Corellia, for the civil marriage.  Every requisition of the law will then have been complied with.”

Maestro Guglielmi bows and moves toward the door.  If by this means the civil marriage can be brought about, Guglielmi will have clinched a doubtful act into a legal certainty.

“A moment, Signore Avvocato “—­and Nobili is following Guglielmi to the door, consternation and amazement depicted upon his countenance, “Is this indeed so?”

Nobili’s manner indicates suspicion.

“Absolutely so,” answers the mendacious one.  “To-morrow morning, after the civil marriage, we shall be in readiness to sign the deed of separation.  Allow me in the mean time to peruse it.”

He holds out his hand.  If all fails, he determines to destroy that deed, and protest that he has lost it.

“Dio Santo!” ejaculates Nobili, giving the deed to him—­“twenty-four hours at Corellia!”

“Not twenty-four,” suggests Guglielmi, blandly, putting the deed into his pocket and taking out his watch with extraordinary rapidity, then replacing it as rapidly; “it is now seven o’clock.  At nine o’clock to-morrow morning the deed of separation shall be signed, and you, Count Nobili, will be free.”

CHAPTER X.

THE LAWYER BAFFLED.

At that moment Fra Pacifico’s tall figure barred the doorway.  He seemed to have risen suddenly out of the darkness.  Nobili started back and changed color.  Of all living men, he most dreaded the priest at that particular moment.  The priest was now before him, stern, grave, authoritative; searching him with those earnest eyes—­the priest—­a living protest against all he had done, against all he was about to do!