At last he came in, still humming, and apologised for the delay, saying he had stopped a few minutes at the inn to get some supper. It could not have been a very substantial meal that he ate in that short time.
"What did the man say?" was his first question, as he sat down.
"He said it should be managed as I desired," I answered. "Of course I did not mention you. Temistocle—that is his name—will come at midnight, and take you to the door. There you will find this inamorata, this lady-love of yours, for whom you are about to turn the world upside down."
"What will you do yourself, Sor Cornelio?" he asked, smiling.
"I will go now and get my donkey, and quietly ride up the valley to the Serra di Sant' Antonio," I said. "I am sure that the signorina will be more at her ease if I accompany you. I am a very proper person, you see."
"Yes," said Nino, pensively, "you are very proper. And besides, you can be a witness of the civil marriage."
"Diavolo!" I cried, "a marriage! I had not thought of that."
"Blood of a dog!" exclaimed Nino, "what on earth did you think of?" He was angry all in a moment.
"Piano,—do not disquiet yourself, my boy. I had not realised that the wedding was so near,—that is all. Of course you will be married in Rome, as soon as ever we get there."
"We shall be married in Ceprano to-morrow night, by the sindaco, or the mayor, or whatever civil bishop they support in that God-forsaken Neopolitan town," said Nino, with great determination.