Like an animal hunted to death, that wishes to die in its lair, he was about to withdraw, when he faced what appeared to be a peasant who had come with provisions to the cloister.
As he saw the young monk he paused with a salutation, then, approaching him, he whispered:
"Have you heard the news? Messer Raniero Frangipani and Madonna Ilaria Caselli are passing on their bridal journey to Rome!"
Francesco's face was so pale that no earthly tint seemed to have remained in it. Only the large eyes gave evidence of life.
"You come to me from her?" he questioned to the peasant.
"She bade me tell you that from no motive of coercion,—but of her own free will and choice, the Frangipani's proposal had been accepted!"
Francesco gave a sudden cry like one who leaps over a precipice, and, falling on his knees, buried his face in his hands.
When he roused himself from the stupor which benumbed his limbs the peasant had disappeared, with him the bridal procession and the Swabian contingents of Conradino.
The full moon gazed down upon him through the great silence of the mountain-world, and a thousand pines thrust up their midnight spears towards the stars.