The agile lawyer darted forward.  He was about to speak.  Fra Pacifico waved him into silence.

“Maestro Guglielmi,” he said, with that sonorous voice which lent importance to his slightest utterances, “I am glad to find you here.  You represent the marchesa.—­My son,” he continued, addressing Count Nobili (as he did so, his face darkened into a look of mingled pain and displeasure), “I come from your wife.”

At that word Fra Pacifico paused.  Count Nobili reddened.  His eyes fell upon the floor; he dared not meet the reproving glance he felt was upon him.

“My son, I come from your wife,” repeated Fra Pacifico.

There was a dead silence.

“You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting.  She was mercifully spared, therefore, hearing from your own lips that you repudiated her.  She has since been informed by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so.  I am here as her messenger.  Your wife accepts the separation you desire.”

As each sentence fell from the priest’s lips his countenance grew sterner.

“Accepts the separation!  Gives me up!” exclaimed Nobili, quite taken aback.  “So much the better.  We are both of the same mind.”

But, spite his words, there were irritation and surprise in Nobili’s manner.  That Enrica herself should have consented to part from him was altogether an astonishment!

“If Countess Nobili accepts the separation”—­and he turned sharply upon Guglielmi—­“nothing need detain you here, Signore Avvocato.  You hear what Fra Pacifico says.  You have only, therefore, to inform the Marchesa Guinigi.  Probably her niece has already done so.  We know that they act in concert.”  Count Nobili laughed bitterly.

“The marchesa is not even aware that I am here,” interposed Fra Pacifico.  “Enrica is now married—­she acts for herself.  Her first act, Count Nobili, is one of obedience—­she sacrifices herself to you.”

Again the priest’s deep-set eyes turned reprovingly upon Count Nobili.  Dare the headstrong boy affect to misunderstand that he had driven Enrica to renounce him?  Guglielmi remained standing near the door—­self-possessed, indeed, as usual, but utterly crestfallen.  His very soul sank within him as he listened to Fra Pacifico.  Every thing was going wrong, the judgeship in imminent peril, and this devil of a priest, who ought to know better, doing every thing to divide them!

“Signore Guglielmi,” said Nobili, with a significant glance at the open door, “allow me to repeat—­we need not detain you.  We shall now act for ourselves.  Without reference to the difficulties you have raised—­”

“The difficulties I have raised have been for your own good, Count Nobili,” was Guglielmi’s indignant reply.  “Had I been supported by”—­and he glanced at Fra Pacifico—­“by those whose duty teaches them obedience to the ordinances of the Church, you would have saved yourself and others the spectacle of a matrimonial scandal that will degrade you before the eyes of all Italy.”