"Capital!" cried Carlino. "But don't overdo it."

"Forgive me," Noemi pleaded. "It is only a supposition after all; only a
conjecture. She herself says so."

"No," Jeanne burst out, sweeping away doubt and conjecture. "No, it is
not he, it is not possible. He was never a musician."

"No, no, it is not he, it is not," Noemi hastened to reassure her,
speaking under her breath, for Carlino was approaching. He came, praised
their acting, and expressed a desire that they should move on slowly
among the trees.

In the shadow of the trees Jeanne complained almost indignantly, that
her friend had waited until then to make such a disclosure; she ought to
have spoken sooner, and at home. And once more she protested that this
Benedictine monk could not be Maironi, because Maironi had never been a
musician. Noemi tried to justify herself. She had intended to speak on
her return from the Hospital of St. John, from the visit to Memling, but
Jeanne had been so sad! Still she would have spoken had Carlino not come
in. And now while they had been walking she had not known how to parry
Jeanne's questions. If, when they were standing near the Hotel de
Flandre, Jeanne had not returned to the subject, she would not have
referred to it again; and she, Noemi, would not have made her disclosure
until they reached home.

"And your sister really believes?" said Jeanne.

Well, Maria was in doubt. It would seem that Giovanni was the more
certain. Giovanni was sure; at least Maria said so in her letter. At