I told her not to trouble herself with what could not be helped.  I did not see how she could be blamed, and after all the count was my friend and a man of honour.  But I relieved my feelings by bestowing upon Master Scipione one of the handsomest drubbings his oily skin had ever received.  I little knew then how richly he deserved it; but I found out before long, and then if I could have killed him I am sure I would have done it.

CHAPTER XXV

I PREPARE FOR BLISS

I must return to the natural order of my history, and relate my first interview with Aurelia in order that I may prepare the reader for the last.  It was brought about by Father Carnesecchi, to whom I applied for it after my visit to the convent and reception of the note of forgiveness.  I had a great respect for the good man, and owed him much for his kindness to me in my hour of need, but, as I never had the knack of concealing my feelings, I could not help showing him, I suppose, that I was aware that my mistress had been a week in Florence without my suspecting it.  If I had thought to confuse him by any such reproach—­ which I had not—­I should have been quickly undeceived.

Father Carnesecchi at once admitted that he had withheld, for what seemed very proper reasons, the fact of Aurelia’s arrival.  “The poor little lady,” he said, “when she had recovered from fatigues which (without being harsh), I must say, were not brought upon her entirely unassisted, developed a very becoming and dutiful state of the soul.  I have seldom been more hopeful of a case of conscience.  But it is a sensitive plant, the soul of a young and naturally amiable girl; rough blasts may bruise it; even excessive nurture may cause an exuberance of growth and weaken the roots.  I do not doubt your real repentance, my Francis—­Heaven forbid it me, but I confess I do gravely doubt the expediency of your assuring Donna Aurelia of it otherwise than by a letter which I shall willingly convey to her.  May I ask you now—­since I stand to you in loco parentis; yes, yes, in loco parentis—­how it was that you became acquainted with the fact of her having been a week in the Sienese convent?”

I told him the truth; and if the father was vexed he was not surprised.

“Beware,” he said, “of that little parasite.  You have a dangerous liking for female society, as I have told you before.  Of your two intimacies, I much prefer that of Donna Aurelia for you.  There, now, is a girl naturaliter Christiana—­but that is characteristic of her nation:  the elect city of Mary, indeed, as the pious Gigli has observed in a large volume.  Come,” he said suddenly, “come, Francis, I will take you to see Donna Aurelia this moment.  There shall be no drawbacks to our mutual affection.  What do you say?”