“It was the will of God that my own sin should follow me to the end, and that it should be the means of freeing these three persons from their terrible position.  For the Baron of Guardia believes that he is married to the princess, and she believes that she is Don Gianluca’s wife.  But as yet no further harm is done, and the Taquisara is the bravest gentleman and the truest man to his friend that ever drew breath.  Therefore I have made this confession.  And I will abide all the consequences.  The bishop before whom you will lay the case will know what is to be done.  It will be in his power, I presume, to acquaint the princess with the fact that she is not married at all, and must be married by a true priest; and to do so, without injuring the poor people of Muro who have been the victims of my sin for many years.

“That is my confession.  And now, if I have not made all clear to you, I beg you to ask me such questions as you think fit, for it is not in your power to give me absolution.”

Don Teodoro was exhausted.  His face sank upon his folded hands on the edge of the table, and his shoulders trembled.

“My poor friend!  My poor friend!” repeated Don Matteo, in a low and wondering tone.  “No—­it is quite clear,” he added.  “There is nothing which I have not understood.  But I can say nothing, my poor friend!  Pray—­pray for forgiveness.  God will forgive you, for you have done evil only to yourself, and never anything but good to others.”

Don Teodoro in a hardly audible voice repeated the second half of the ‘Confiteor’ and remained on his knees a little while longer.  Don Matteo covered his eyes with his hands, and during several minutes there was silence.  Then the two old men rose and looked at each other for a moment.

“Courage!” said Don Matteo, and he gently patted his friend’s shoulder.

He took off his stole, folded it carefully, and wrapped it in its clean white paper again, before putting it away.  But he did that by force of habit.  Confessors hear strange things sometimes and are not easily disconcerted, but Don Teodoro’s was the strangest tale that had ever come to Don Matteo’s ears.  Again he came and patted Don Teodoro’s shoulder in a way of kindly encouragement.

Then he took his three-cornered hat and went out without a word.  In such a case there was no time to be lost.

Cardinal Campodonico was at that time the archbishop of Naples, and he received Don Matteo immediately, for the priest was a man of extraordinarily brilliant gifts and well known to the prelate, who liked him and had caused him to be made a canon of the cathedral not many years earlier.