In returning to St. Luke the professor told how the police were in search of the Moro, who was suspected as an accomplice in a recent highway murder, certain authors of which had fallen that very morning into the hands of justice.  Don Rocco heard this not without satisfaction; for he now was able to explain why the man had not come.  “Who knows,” he made bold to say, “that he may not have gone away, and that he may not return?  And then all this gossip will come to an end.  Do you not think so?”

“Yes, my dear,” answered the professor, who understood the point of his discourse, “but you know the Countess Carlotta.  Henceforth whether the Moro goes or remains is of no consequence to her.  Lucia must be dismissed.”

Don Rocco said no more, neither did the professor.  The former accompanied the latter as far as the church cypresses, stood looking after him until he disappeared at the end of the lane, and then returned, sighing, to his house.  Later, when, bending under the weight of his cloak, he was passing, lamp in hand, through the entry leading to the choir of St. Luke, his doubt of the previous night came up again violently.  “Had it really been a confession?” He stopped in the shadow of the deserted entry, looking at the lamp, giving vent for a moment to the sweet, tempting thoughts of the inert spirit.  “Were he to take some pretext to send the woman away, to live and die in peace in his St. Luke.”  All at once his heart began to beat fiercely.  These were thoughts from the devil.  In the same way as perhaps in ancient times and in the same place some monk, tormented by heated nocturnal visions of love and of pleasure, may have done, Don Rocco made hastily the sign of the cross, hastened to the choir, and became immersed in a devout reading of the prayer-book.

V.

Ten days after, at the same hour, Don Rocco was praying before the altar of the Virgin, under the pulpit.

He was on the eve of leaving St. Luke for ever.  He had agreed with the Countess Carlotta to give as an excuse a brief absence, a visit of a couple of weeks to his old father; and to write afterwards that for family reasons he could not return, and then this had happened that the poor old peasant, before learning of the new state of affairs, had written, asking for assistance; and Don Rocco had been obliged to sell some furniture as well to save cost of transportation as in order not to arrive home with empty hands.  He was returning with the intention of remaining as short a time as possible, and of going away as chaplain wherever it pleased the Curia to which he had directed his request.

No certain information had been secured, either of the wine or of the thieves; but suspicions were rife against a woman who kept an inn, a new favorite of the Moro, who was thought to have received the wine.  The Moro was said by some to have fled, by others to have gone into hiding.  It seemed as if the police were of the second opinion.  They came and went, searching everywhere, but always uselessly.