filled with small trees and bathed in moonlight, under the great wall of the ancient cathedral, stopped at once, and stretching out her arm, which had rested on Noemi's, seized her friend's hand and said, trembling with agitation:
"Noemi, answer me at once; have you told your sister anything?"
Carlino called to them to stop there if they liked, but to pretend to be engaged in an interesting conversation.
Noemi answered her friend with a "yes" so timid and soft that Jeanne understood all. Maria Selva believed that her monk, this Don Clemente, was Piero Maironi.
"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, tightly pressing Noemi's hand. "But did she really say so?"
"Say what?"
"What indeed!"
Good heavens! How difficult it was to make the girl speak out. Jeanne freed herself from her, but Noemi, alarmed, at once seized her arm again.
"Capital!" cried Carlino. "But don't overdo it."
"Forgive me," Noemi pleaded. "It is only a supposition after all; only a conjecture. She herself says so."
"No," Jeanne burst out, sweeping away doubt and conjecture. "No, it is not he, it is not possible. He was never a musician."
"No, no, it is not he, it is not," Noemi hastened
