But the Benedictine was incapable of such
calculations, and Noemi was anxious to satisfy herself that Fra Antonio
had fulfilled his mission faithfully.
"Good morning, Padre," she said in her pretty voice, to which the
foreign accent lent additional charm. "We met last night. You were just
leaving Signor Selva's house."
Don Clemente bent his head slightly. Noemi had really hardly had a
glimpse of him, but she had been struck by his beauty, and had reflected
that if he were Signer Maironi she could understand Jeanne's passion.
Conscious of her fresh and youthful appearance, it never entered
her head that her twenty-five years could be mistaken for Jeanne's
thirty-two. Jeanne, in the meantime, was wondering how she could turn
her dilemma to the best account.
"You were not expected last night," said Don Clemente to Noemi. "You
come from the Veneto, I believe?"
"The Veneto?" Noemi seemed surprised.
"The Selvas told me you lived in the Veneto," the Padre added.
Then Noemi understood. She smiled, and murmured a monosyllable which was
neither "yes" nor "no"; she also was determined to take advantage of
her position, and, thanks to this misunderstanding, obtain a private
interview with Don Clemente, and warn him if necessary.
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