As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over
Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong
man. His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose,
Fra Pacifico always said.
"I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," answered the cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest's suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach. "What do you think I could have done but this?"
"And Count Marescotti refused her?"
"Yes, he refused her because he was a communist. Nothing passed between them, nothing. They never met but twice, both times in my presence."
Fra Pacifico was satisfied.
"God be praised!" he muttered to himself.
Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned toward Enrica. Again he felt her pulse, and passed his broad hand across her forehead.
"No change!" he said, sadly—"no change! Poor child, how she must have suffered! And alone, too! There is some mistake—obviously some mistake."
"No mistake about the wretch having forsaken her," interrupted Trenta, firing up at what he considered Fra Pacifico's ill-placed leniency. "Domine Dio! No mistake about that."
"Yes, but there must be," insisted the other. "I have known Nobili from a boy. He is incapable of such villainy. I tell you, cavaliere, Nobili is utterly incapable of it. He has been deceived. By-and-by he will bitterly repent this," and Fra Pacifico held up the letter.