She resumed
her soothing, but more timidly now.
"Yes, dear! yes, dear! because knowing there is no help---"
Jeanne raised her tear-stained face, "Do you not understand? It is not
he!" she said.
Noemi drew away from her embrace, amazed,
"What do you mean? Not he--! All this scene because it is not he?"
Jeanne again fell upon her neck.
"The monk who passed me, is not he," she said sobbing; "it is the other
man!"
"What other man?"
"The one who was following him, who went away with him!"
Noemi had not even noticed this person. With a convulsive laugh Jeanne
nearly suffocated her in a close embrace.
CHAPTER III
A NIGHT OF STORMS
On his way down from the villa to the gate, Don Clemente asked himself
with secret anxiety: "Did he recognise her, or not? And if he did, what
impression did she make?" On reaching the gate he turned to him he had
called Benedetto, and scrutinised his face closely--a fleshless, pallid,
intellectual face, in which he read no sign of agitation. The eyes met
his wonderingly, almost as if questioning: "Why do you look at me thus?"
The monk said to himself: "Probably he did not recognise her, or he
supposes me to be unaware of her arrival.
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