"Hesitation is not a failing of mine, my friend. But for lack of careful handling one may inflict much pain on those whom one loves, and do you want me to be cruel to you? You subject my affection to a painful test!" "You frighten me beforehand, Padre Angelo. It seems to me that you have already guessed the question I am going to ask you." "Ask it, so that I may see if I am not mistaken." "And you will answer?" "I will answer." "Well," said Magnani, in a trembling voice, "should I do well to ask your brother to give me Mila's hand?" "Precisely, that is what I expected. My brother has already spoken to me about it. He thinks that his daughter loves you; he thinks that he has detected it." "Great God! if it were true!" said Magnani, clasping his hands. But Fra Angelo's face maintained its cold, sad expression. "You do not consider me worthy to be Mila's husband," continued the modest Magnani. "It is true that I am not, padre; but if you knew how firmly I have resolved to become worthy!" "My friend," rejoined the monk, "the day on which you should become Mila's husband, if you love each other fervently and sincerely, would be the happiest day in Pier-Angelo's life and mine; for we monks know that a man must love with his whole soul the spouse to whom he gives his life, whether that spouse be the family or the church. I believe that you love Mila, since you seek her hand; but I do not know whether Mila loves you or whether my brother is mistaken." "Alas!" replied Magnani, "nor do I know myself." "You do not know?" said Fra Angelo, drawing his eyebrows together; "she has never told you so?" "Never!" "But she has granted you some innocent favors, has she not? She has been alone with you?" "Only by chance or from necessity." "She has never made an appointment with you?" "Never!" "Not yesterday? was she not walking with you, in this neighborhood, last night at sunset?" "Last night, in this neighborhood?" repeated Magnani, turning pale; "no, padre." "On your salvation?" "On my salvation and my honor!" "In that case, Magnani, you must not think about Mila. Mila loves someone, and you are not that some one. And the worst of it is that neither her father nor I can guess who it is. Would to God that a girl so devoted to her duties, so hard-working, and down to this very day so modest, might have taken a fancy to a man like you! You would have brought up a family nobly, and your union would have edified your neighbors. But Mila is a child, and a romantic child, I fear. Hereafter we must watch her more carefully; I will warn her father, and you, being a man of heart, will say nothing and forget her." "What!" cried Magnani, "can it be that Mila, the personification of honesty, courage, and innocence, already has a misstep upon her conscience? Great God! have chastity and truth ceased to exist on earth?"