"Hush!" said the Marchesa, looking round through the twilight—"a step!"
"It is the Friar's, yonder, who crosses to the choir," replied Schedoni.
They were watchful for a few moments, and then he resumed the subject. "Mercenaries ought not to be trusted,"—
"Yet who but mercenaries"—interrupted the Marchesa, and instantly checked herself. But the question thus implied, did not escape the Confessor.
"Pardon my astonishment," said he, "at the inconsistency, or, what shall I venture to call it? of your opinions! After the acuteness you have displayed on some points, is it possible you can doubt, that principle may both prompt and perform the deed? Why should we hesitate to do what we judge to be right?"
"Ah! reverend father," said the Marchesa, with emotion, "but where shall we find another like yourself—another, who not only can perceive with justness, but will act with energy."
Schedoni was silent.
"Such a friend is above all estimation; but where shall we seek him?"
"Daughter!" said the Monk, emphatically, "my zeal for your family is also above all calculation."
"Good father," replied the Marchesa, comprehending his full meaning, "I know not how to thank you."