“It would indeed have been better had we both perished in the flames!” cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish—­“perished—­locked in each other’s arms!  Poor Enrica!” He turned away, and a low sob burst from his heart of hearts.  “The marchesa has destroyed my love!—­She has blighted my life!” Nobili’s voice sounded hollow in the dimly-lighted room.  At last Nobili was speaking out—­speaking, as it were, from the grave of his love!  “Yes, I loved her,” he continued dreamily—­“I loved her!  How much I did not know!”

He had forgotten he was not alone.  The priest was but dimly visible.  He was leaning against the wall, his massive chin resting on his hand, listening to Nobili.  Now, hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico’s anger had vanished.  After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil!  Nobili was neither cruel nor heartless; but he had been driven to bay!  Now he pitied him, profoundly.  What could he say to him?  He could urge Nobili no more.  He must work out his own fate!

Again Nobili spoke.

“When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she entered the chapel, I dared not look again!  It was too late.  My pride as a man, all that is sacred to me as a gentleman, has been too deeply wounded.  The marchesa has done it.  She alone is responsible. She has left me no alternative.  I will never accept a wife forced upon me by her—­never, by Heaven!  My father, these are my last words.  Carry them to Enrica.”

Count Nobili’s head dropped upon his breast.  He covered his face with his hands.

“My son, I leave you in the hands of God.  May He lead you and comfort you!  But remember, the life of your wife is bound up in your life.  Hitherto Enrica has lived upon hope.  Deprived of hope, she will die.”

When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone.

CHAPTER XI.

FACE TO FACE.

The time had now come when Count Nobili must finally make up his mind.  He had told Fra Pacifico that his determination was unaltered.  He had told him that his dignity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded that he should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which the marchesa had entangled him.  Of all earthly things, compliancy with her desires most revolted him.  Rather than live any longer the victim either of her malice or her ambition, he had brought himself to believe that it was his duty to renounce Enrica.  Until Fra Pacifico had entered that room within which he was again pacing up and down with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his mind as to what it was incumbent upon him to do:  to give Enrica the protection of his name by marriage, then to separate.  Whether to separate in the manner pointed out by Guglielmi he had not decided.  An innate repulsion, now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in concert with the marchesa.