"Yes, excellency, you sign here," he stammered, pointing to the precise spot; but Ser Giacomo looked so terrified that Nobili, forgetting where he was, laughed out loud and turned to Enrica, who laughed also.
"Stop that unseemly mirth," called out the marchesa from the sofa; "it is most indecent. Let the act that buries a great name at least be conducted with decorum."
"That great name shall not die," spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico from the background; "I call a blessing upon it, and upon the present act. The name shall live. When we are dead and rotting in our graves, a race shall rise from them"—and he pointed to Nobili and Enrica—"that shall recall the great legends of the past among the citizens of Lucca."
Fearful of what the marchesa might be moved to reply (even the marchesa, however, had a certain dread of Fra Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes round at the group of happy faces about her; all happy save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of sweat were standing.
"Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, "fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, who are suffering from your want of means to help them!"
"Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able to control herself, "I respect your office, but this is still my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to sign?"—she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo.
"Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice of the notary.
The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleasure in spreading them out over the page.
Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses.
"There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact day you may please to name; but, madame"—and with a lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to touch her—"I beg you not to keep me waiting long."