Valentini came for his answer at the time appointed and found Ragna, outwardly calm, awaiting him. She was standing by the window, the shutters casting greenish reflections on her white piqué gown. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the waxiness of her skin and the weary droop of her mouth, as she came forward with outstretched hand to greet him. His glance questioned her.
"It is 'yes'," she answered with composure.
He sank to one knee and lifted her hands to his lips. Hers curled slightly at the dramatic gesture, it seemed tawdry, after the hours of agonised indecision she had passed through, still it was better than verbal raptures. Egidio rose to his feet, and seeing that she was in no mood for demonstrative affection, had the tact to maintain a restrained friendliness of demeanour that went far towards soothing the girl and putting her at her ease. Nevertheless when he had taken his departure she was conscious of a distinct sensation of relief, and wondered at herself for it. Was this not the way of deliverance and was it not being made as easy for her as lay in the circumstances?
They had agreed as to the necessity of hastening the marriage; prolonging the actual state of affairs could be of no possible advantage, and Ragna herself, now that she had made up her mind, was eager to bring the thing to its logical conclusion without further delay. Valentini's motives are readily devinable.
"I have her!" he chuckled as he ran down the stairs, swinging his cane jauntily, "she can't draw back now—and she would not if she could, she is not the kind that breaks promises."
The banns were published at once at the Palazzo Vecchio, and as Ragna was of age there was no difficulty to be anticipated. They had agreed to forgo the religious marriage, Egidio being a fervent son of the Church only when it suited his convenience so to appear, and Ragna, imbued with her philosophical studies, attaching no importance to the, to her, empty ceremony. Having the civil wedding alone would also avoid the delay and expense occasioned by a mixed marriage.
She had decided not to write to her relations in time for any remonstrance to reach her before the fait accompli should render any such interference obviously useless. "Since I have decided on this step," she reasoned, "why do anything to make it more difficult? They cannot understand why I am doing it—they never can know; they will think I have gone out of my mind."
To those about her she showed an impassive face, and even the sympathetic questionings of Dr. Ferrati were unsuccessful in eliciting a response.
"It is as though you had built a stone wall about yourself—you have become a Sister of the Murate," he complained to her one day.
She smiled in answer.