“Will you not answer even that question?”
Benedetto smiled.
“Non expedit,” said he.
There were steps in the ante-room; two gentle taps at the door; the Selvas entered with Noemi. Maria Selva came in first, and seeing Benedetto dressed thus, could not restrain a movement of indignation, of regret, and a soft laugh; then she blushed and wished to speak a word of protest, but could not find the right one. The tears came to Noemi’s eyes. All four were silent for a moment and understood each other. Then Giovanni murmured:
“‘Non fu dal vel del cuor giawmai disciolto’”[*1*];
and pressed the hand of him who in his awkward garments still appeared august to him.
“But you must not wear these things!” exclaimed Maria, less mystic than her husband.
Benedetto made a gesture which said, “Let us not speak of that,” and looked at the master of his master with eyes full of longing and reverence.
“Are you aware,” said he, “how much truth and how much good have come to me from you?”
Giovanni did not know how strongly he had influenced this man through Don Clemente. He supposed he had read his books. He was moved, and in his heart thanked God, who was thus gently showing him that he had worked some real good in a soul.