ovanni no longer doubted,
but his wife was not sure even now. Noemi! Noemi must know! Giovanni
closed the door, while Maria, interpreting her sister's silence as
confirmation, insisted: "Then it is really he, really he?"

Noemi was silent. She would perhaps have betrayed her friend's secret
in order to conspire with the Selvas for Jeanne's happiness, had she not
been deterred by a doubt of their agreeing with her, and by a sense of
wavering in her own mind. Probably, as Catholics, the Selvas would
not wish this man who had fled from the world to return to it. She, a
Protestant, could not feel thus; at least she _should_ not feel thus.
She should rather believe that God is better served out in the world
and in the married state. She did feel this, but she could not hide
from herself that should Signor Maironi marry Jeanne now, she could
feel little respect for him. At any rate it would be wiser to hide the
strange truth.

"Well, what is it you think?" said she. "That the priest who was here
last night, and who passed in front of us, after all that by-play of
yours, was really the former lover? Is he your Don Clemente? Very well
then, he is not the man."

"Ah! Really not?" Giovanni exclaimed, between surprise and incredulity.
His wife triumphed.

"There!" said she.

But Giovanni would not yield. He asked Noemi if she were quite sure of
what she said, and how she explained Signora Dessalle's fainting? Noemi
answered that there was nothing to explain. Jeanne suffered from anaemia,
and was subject to attacks of terrible weakness. Giovanni was silent,
but he was not convinced. If this were really so, how could Noemi assert
so positively that Don Clemente was not the man? In his sister-in-law's
words, in her manner, in her face, Giovanni perceived something that was
not natural. Maria asked how they had passed the night. How had Signora
Dessalle rested? She had been uneasy? In what way uneasy?

"She was uneasy! What more can I say?" Noemi exclaimed rather irritably,
and went to the open window as if to ascertain the intention of the
clouds. Giovanni took a step towards her, determined to conquer her
reticence. She had a presentiment of this, and, as an expedient, she
asked what his predictions concerning the weather were.

The sky was completely overcast; low, heavy clouds rolled down from the
crests of Monte Calvo upon the Cappuccini and the Rocca. The air was
warm, the roar of the Anio loud. Far below, the road to Su