ight, under the great wall of the ancient cathedral,
stopped at once, and stretching out her arm, which had rested on
Noemi's, seized her friend's hand and said, trembling with agitation:

"Noemi, answer me at once; have you told your sister anything?"

Carlino called to them to stop there if they liked, but to pretend to be
engaged in an interesting conversation.

Noemi answered her friend with a "yes" so timid and soft that Jeanne
understood all. Maria Selva believed that her monk, this Don Clemente,
was Piero Maironi.

"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, tightly pressing Noemi's hand. "But did she
really say so?"

"Say what?"

"What indeed!"

Good heavens! How difficult it was to make the girl speak out. Jeanne
freed herself from her, but Noemi, alarmed, at once seized her arm
again.

"Capital!" cried Carlino. "But don't overdo it."

"Forgive me," Noemi pleaded. "It is only a supposition after all; only a
conjecture. She herself says so."

"No," Jeanne burst out, sweeping away doubt and conjecture. "No, it is
not he, it is not possible. He was never a musician."

"No, no, it is not he, it is not," Noemi hastened to reassure her,
speaking under her breath, for Carlino was approaching. He came, praised
their acting, and expressed a desire that they should move on slowly
among the trees.

In the shadow of the trees Jeanne complained almost indignantly, that
her friend had waited until then to make such a disclosure; she ought to
have spoken sooner, and at home. And once more she protested that this
Benedictine monk could not be Maironi, because Maironi had never been a
musician. Noemi tried to justify herself. She had intended to speak on
her return from the Hospital of St. John, from the visit to Memling, but
Jeanne had been so sad! Still she would have spoken had Carlino not come
in. And now while they had been walking she had not known how to parry
Jeanne's questions. If, when they were standing near the Hotel de
Flandre, Jeanne had not returned to the subject, she would not have
referred to it again; and she, Noemi, would not have made her disclosure
until they reached home.

"And your sister really believes?" said Jeanne.

Well, Maria was in doubt. It would seem that Giovanni was the more
certain. Giovanni was sure; at least Maria said so in her letter. At
receiving this reply Jeanne flared up. How could he be sure? what did he
know about it? Maironi could not play a single chord on the piano. Good
grounds