"She is an angel," said Nino, with great conviction.
"But the angels neither marry nor are given in marriage," I objected, arguing the point to pass the time.
"What do you make of it, then, Messer Cornelio?" he asked, with a smile.
"Why, as a heretic she ought to burn, and as an angel she ought not to marry."
"It is better to marry than to burn," retorted Nino, triumphantly.
"Diavolo! Have you had St. Paul for a tutor?" I asked, for I knew the quotation, being fond of Greek.
"I heard a preacher cite it once at the Gesù, and I thought it a good saying."
Early in the morning we rolled into the great station of Rome, and took an affectionate leave of each other, with the promise that Hedwig and Nino would visit me in the course of the day. I saw them into a carriage, with Nino's small portmanteau, and Hedwig's bundle, and then mounted a modest omnibus that runs from the termini to St. Peter's, and goes very near my house.
All the bells were ringing gladly, as if to welcome us, for it was Easter morning; and though it is not so kept as it used to be, it is nevertheless a great feast. Besides, the spring was at hand, and the acacia-trees in the great square were budding, though everything was still so backward in the hills. April was at hand, which the foreigners think is our best month; but I prefer June and July, when the weather is warm, and the music plays in the Piazza Colonna of an evening. For all that, April is a glad time, after the disagreeable winter.
There was with me much peace on that Easter day, for I felt that my dear boy was safe after all his troubles. At least he was safe from anything that could be done to part him from Hedwig; for the civil laws are binding, and Hedwig was of the age when a young woman is legally free to marry whom she pleases. Of course old Lira might still make himself disagreeable, but I fancied him too much a man of the world to desire a scandal, when no good could follow. The one shadow in the future was the anger of Benoni, who would be certain to seek some kind of revenge for the repulse he had suffered. I was still ignorant of his whereabouts, not yet knowing what I knew long afterwards, and have told you, because otherwise you would have been as much in the dark as he was himself, when Temistocle cunningly turned the lock of the staircase door and left him to his curses and his meditations. I have had much secret joy in thinking what a wretched night he must have passed there, and how his long limbs must have ached with sitting about on the stones, and how hoarse he must have been from the dampness and the swearing.