THE LAWYER BAFFLED.
At that moment Fra Pacifico's tall figure barred the doorway. He seemed to have risen suddenly out of the darkness. Nobili started back and changed color. Of all living men, he most dreaded the priest at that particular moment. The priest was now before him, stern, grave, authoritative; searching him with those earnest eyes—the priest—a living protest against all he had done, against all he was about to do!
The agile lawyer darted forward. He was about to speak. Fra Pacifico waved him into silence.
"Maestro Guglielmi," he said, with that sonorous voice which lent importance to his slightest utterances, "I am glad to find you here. You represent the marchesa.—My son," he continued, addressing Count Nobili (as he did so, his face darkened into a look of mingled pain and displeasure), "I come from your wife."
At that word Fra Pacifico paused. Count Nobili reddened. His eyes fell upon the floor; he dared not meet the reproving glance he felt was upon him.
"My son, I come from your wife," repeated Fra Pacifico.
There was a dead silence.
"You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting. She was mercifully spared, therefore, hearing from your own lips that you repudiated her. She has since been informed by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so. I am here as her messenger. Your wife accepts the separation you desire."
As each sentence fell from the priest's lips his countenance grew sterner.
"Accepts the separation! Gives me up!" exclaimed Nobili, quite taken aback. "So much the better. We are both of the same mind."