“I am sent to summon you to the palace,” said the man.  “The doctors have given up all hope.”

Father Rocco turned deadly pale, and drew back a step.  “Have you told my brother of this?” he asked.

“I was just on my way to the studio,” answered the servant.

“I will go there instead of you, and break the bad news to him,” said the priest.

They descended the stairs in silence.  Just as they were about to separate at the street door, Father Rocco stopped the servant.

“How is the child?” he asked, with such sudden eagerness and impatience, that the man looked quite startled as he answered that the child was perfectly well.

“There is some consolation in that,” said Father Rocco, walking away, and speaking partly to the servant, partly to himself.  “My caution has misled me,” he continued, pausing thoughtfully when he was left alone in the roadway.  “I should have risked using the mother’s influence sooner to procure the righteous restitution.  All hope of compassing it now rests on the life of the child.  Infant as she is, her father’s ill-gotten wealth may yet be gathered back to the Church by her hands.”

He proceeded rapidly on his way to the studio, until he reached the river-side and drew close to the bridge which it was necessary to cross in order to get to his brother’s house.  Here he stopped abruptly, as if struck by a sudden idea.  The moon had just risen, and her light, streaming across the river, fell full upon his face as he stood by the parapet wall that led up to the bridge.  He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the conversation of two ladies who were advancing along the pathway close behind him.  As they brushed by him, the taller of the two turned round and looked back at his face.

“Father Rocco!” exclaimed the lady, stopping.

“Donna Brigida!” cried the priest, looking surprised at first, but recovering himself directly and bowing with his usual quiet politeness.  “Pardon me if I thank you for honoring me by renewing our acquaintance, and then pass on to my brother’s studio.  A heavy affliction is likely to befall us, and I go to prepare him for it.”

“You refer to the dangerous illness of your niece?” said Brigida.  “I heard of it this evening.  Let us hope that your fears are exaggerated, and that we may yet meet under less distressing circumstances.  I have no present intention of leaving Pisa for some time, and I shall always be glad to thank Father Rocco for the politeness and consideration which he showed to me, under delicate circumstances, a year ago.”

With these words she courtesied deferentially, and moved away to rejoin her friend.  The priest observed that Mademoiselle Virginie lingered rather near, as if anxious to catch a few words of the conversation between Brigida and himself.  Seeing this, he, in his turn, listened as the two women slowly walked away together, and heard the Italian say to her companion:  “Virginie, I will lay you the price of a new dress that Fabio d’Ascoli marries again.”