“You are lucky,” said Armando sadly. “I wish I could go. My own country does not want me.”
Marianna walked at the tail of the cart. While her brother was talking she had lifted the box in the hope that it might, after all, be only the empty one that he was bringing back; but the weight of it told her the truth she had read in Armando’s face.
“The beast!” she said, “to refuse such a fine thing as that. What did——”
Armando signalled silence, and pointed to Sebastiano, who walked ahead. By this time Bertino understood, and he too exclaimed:
“The beast!”
“Who’s a beast?” asked the muleteer.
“That art merchant, whoever he is. Bah! What would you have? In this country a fellow has no chance. What a fool one is to stay here!”
“No, no; the country is good,” said Sebastiano, shaking his head and jerking a thumb toward Armando. “But what can you expect when one keeps his Saint Peters a whole year?”
The others exchanged knowing glances and followed on in silence. The rest of the way it was plain to all who saw Bertino pass that he was thinking very hard, and with the product of this mental exertion he was fairly bursting by the time they reached Armando’s home, for he had not dared to speak in presence of the carrier. When Juno and the Peacock had been restored to their birthplace he began:
“Now, listen to me, amici, for I have an idea. I am going to America. Is not that so?”