Just within the doorway the bridegroom was waiting with a company of his friends, all in evening dress and wearing flowers in their buttonholes. Peppino, bubbling over with whispered fun, was trying to calm Rinaldo, who, between discomfort in the unaccustomed costume, tight white gloves which would not fasten properly, and doubt as to which of his pockets contained the ring and which the gold and silver coins he must produce when the priest should bid him endow Giannella with all his worldly goods, had worked himself up to a condition allied to frenzy. The sight of Giannella restored him to some command of himself, and by the time they were kneeling together before the altar of the Addolorata he could forget earthly preoccupations, listen to the padre's exhortations on the duties of the married state, and pray with true and humble faith never to fail in love and honor to his dear beautiful bride.
They came out when it was all over with the happiest light on their faces, and though their hearts were only conscious of each other they paused to return the kind wishes of their friends. Among these was Fra Tommaso, beaming with satisfied benevolence. Rinaldo drew him aside and slipped a gold piece into his hand. "Fra Tommaso mio," he said, with some show of contrition, "I have a sad confidence to make to you, and since this is a festal day, please promise me your pardon."
"You do not look very sorry about it, signorino," replied the old man. "What are you giving me gold for. Here, take it back. You owe me nothing."
"Oh yes, I do," said Rinaldo. "I have several times occupied your loggia and paid nothing for it."
"My loggia?" exclaimed the sacristan, "how could you have done that?"
"I got there—from mine," was the reply, "and when I found that I could see from there into my fidanzata's window, well, I came again. I even spoke to her from there. Was not that a dreadful sin? But you must forgive me, and I will give you another beautiful pigeon, my Themistocles, who sometimes consented to carry a bit of a love letter. You will not give him that exercise, and he will grow fat and rejoice your heart with his funny tricks."
"Themistocles? He wear a silver collar? He carried your love letters to the Biondina? Oh, God be praised. You have lifted a weight from my soul." And Fra Tommaso clasped his hands and raised thankful eyes to heaven.
"What do you mean? Explain!" cried Rinaldo, puzzled beyond expression.
"No," said Fra Tommaso, "I shall not tell you. But you cost me my dinner one day, O assassin, and many tears. Bad boy," and he laughed happily, "I will keep the money now and spend it in Masses for the Holy Souls whom I have teased with most unnecessary prayers. There run along to your sposina, and do not send me that evil bird—he would finish in my soup."
Peppino was beckoning and Rinaldo, hurried away, leaving the problem unsolved. In five minutes he had forgotten all about it, for the Cardinal had sent the chaplain down to say that he wished to see the sposini and give them his blessing. The bridegroom's supporters paused on the threshold of the prelate's apartment, but the chaplain drove them all in and the Cardinal, after greeting Rinaldo and Giannella, had a cheery word for everyone, and especially for Peppino, whom he had not had a chance to thank for his share in the memorable rescue, and whose bright face and roguish smile delighted his heart. For his friend Bianchi he had the warmest of welcomes, a little allusion to their common interests, a remark about their last interview, to show all concerned, in the most delicate way, that the Professor was still his honored friend.