biaco, like
a winding ribbon and almost black with mud, was visible through the
foliage of the olives. Giovanni answered;

"Rain."

Noemi at once asked how far it was from the little villa to the
convents. It took twenty minutes to go to Santa Scolastica. But why did
she ask? Upon hearing that Jeanne intended going there with Noemi that
very morning, Maria protested. In such weather? You are obliged to walk
the last part of the way. Could they not postpone their visit until
to-morrow or the next day?

"When did she tell you?" Giovanni asked, almost sharply. Noemi hesitated
before answering:

"In the night."

As soon as she had spoken the words she realised that they would arouse
suspicion, especially after that moment of hesitation; she now awaited
an attack, undecided whether to resist or surrender.

"Noemi!" Giovanni exclaimed severely.

She looked at him, her face slightly flushed; she was silent, not even
saying, "Well, what is it?"

"Do not deny it," her brother-in-law went on.

"This woman recognised Don Clemente. Do not deny it, rather say so at
once; it is a duty which your conscience must surely urge upon you! They
must on no account be allowed to meet!"

"What I said is true," Noemi answered, having now decided on a line
of action. In her tone, free from all trace of irritation and almost
submissive, there lurked the implied confession that she had not told
the whole truth.

"She did not recognise him? But surely you know something more?"

"Yes, I do know something more," Noemi replied; "but I must not tell
you what I know. I can only ask you to warn Don Clemente that Signora
Dessalle and I propose visiting the convents this morning. I will say
nothing more, and now I am going to see if Jeanne is awake."

She left the room hastily. The Selvas looked at each other. What was
the meaning of her wish to have Don Clemente warned? Maria read in her
husband's thoughts something which displeased her, something she did not
wish him to utter,

"You had better write the letter to Don Clemente," she said.

But Giovanni, before writing, wished to free his mind. There seemed to
be only one explanation possible: Don Clemente was really the man. Noemi
had promised Signora Dessalle not to say so, but she nevertheless wished
to prevent a meeting. Maria exclaimed with some heat: "Oh! Noemi does
not tell lies!" and then, crimsoning and smiling, she embraced her
husband as if fearful of having offended him. For