He was about to retrace his steps below, when the individual desired, Stephania's tirewoman, appeared and informed the Senator that her mistress had but just left, to seek an interview with her confessor. A momentary sigh of relief came from the lips of Crescentius. His fears had perhaps been groundless. Still he felt the imperative necessity to obtain proof positive of her innocence or guilt. Thus only could his soul find rest.
Stephania had gone to her confessor. Fate itself would never again throw such an opportunity in his way. And he made such good speed, that, when he came within sight of the ruins of the baths of Caracalla, he perceived by the advancing torches, which the guards accompanying her litter carried, that she had not yet reached her destination.
Approaching closer, he saw them halt near the ruins and in a few moments a woman, wrapt in a dark mantilla, stepped from her litter, received by a bubbling, gesticulating monk, in whom the Senator immediately recognized Fra Biccocco, the companion of Nilus. Escorted by him, she walked hastily into the ruins, and was soon lost to sight in their intricate windings.
Recalling the observations he had made on a previous visit, Crescentius wound his way from the rear to the same point, so that none of Stephania's retinue, who were laughing and chatting among themselves, discerned him or even discovered his presence. Then he rapidly threaded his way to the chamber through which Fra Biccocco and Stephania had just passed, boldly followed them into the clearing, from which Nilus' cell was reached, and concealed himself in the long grass until Biccocco returned from the hermit's cell. Then he approached the monk's hermitage and took up his post of observation in the shadows, out of sight but able to hear every word which would be exchanged between Nilus and his confessor.
The monk of Gaëta had been far from anticipating a visitor at this late hour. Seated at his stone table, he had been reading some illuminated manuscript, when he suddenly laid down the scroll and listened. The perfect stillness of the deserted Aventine permitted some breathings of remote music from the distant groves of Theodora to strike his ear, and after listening for a time, he arose and traversed his cell with rapid steps. He was about to reseat himself and to continue his disquisition by the pale, flickering light of the candle burning before a crucifix, when voices were audible and Biccocco entered, having scarcely time to announce Stephania, ere she followed.
"Good even, Father,—be not startled,—I was returning from my gardens of Egeria and I have brought your altar some of its choicest flowers," she said in a hushed and timid voice, while at the same time she offered the monk some beautiful white roses of a late bloom. "Moreover, I would speak a few words alone with you,—alone with you,—Father Biccocco,—with your permission."
Biccocco, looking at her, as she threw back her mantle from her shoulders, respectfully prepared to obey, almost wondering that there could be on earth anything so wondrously beautiful as this woman.
"Biccocco, I command thee, stay!" exclaimed Nilus starting up. "I would say—nay, daughter—is it thou? I knew not at first,—my sight is dim—Biccocco, let no one trouble me—but tears? What ails our gentle penitent? Has she forgotten a whole string of Aves? Or what heavier offence? It was but yesterday I counselled thee,—but a few hours are so much to a woman.—Wherefore glow thy cheeks with the fires of shame? Biccocco—leave us!"
"Father, I have sinned—yea, grievously sinned in these few hours, since I have seen thee," said Stephania, when the restraint of Biccocco's presence was removed, little suspecting what listener had succeeded. "I have sinned and I repent,—but even in my offence lies my greatest chastisement."
"Art well assured, that it is remorse, and not regret?" replied the hermit of Gaëta. "Thy sex often mistakes one for the other. But what is the matter? Surely it might not prevent thee from taking thy needful rest, might bide the light of day, to be told,—to be listened to,—yet—thou art strangely pale!"