“The hogs of Genoa had no eyes for its beauty,” she answered.
“Well, I have made another Juno.”
“Dio! What do you mean?”
“The Presidentessa is a Juno.”
They seated themselves on the top stair of the stoop, and dolefully Armando went over the episode at the church. In a voice that took flights of passion and with gestures theatric he gave again the cries of “Long live the king!” that resounded in the Sicilian quarter, and re-enacted the drama at the altar. Bitterly he told of his delusion that the haughty woman in the carriage was the Presidentessa, and how the spell lasted until the sacristans broke it by gripping his arms. He made known to her a secret that the banker had disclosed to the priest but had guarded in the presence of Signor Di Bello: Juno’s husband was Bertino!
So wrapped was Armando in the telling and Marianna in the listening that neither heard the soft footfall of Aunt Carolina, who had drawn near and stood at the open door drinking in the delicious narrative. When he said that the priest had put off the marriage for a week so that the banker might have time to present his proofs she could repress her exultation no longer. With an outcry of delight she startled the young people to their feet.
“Sanctified be the name of Father Nicodemo, and Maria the Spotless preserve Bertino forever!”
Marianna and Armando stood abashed because detected in the crime of being together on land after all Carolina’s pains to keep them apart on shipboard. To his further confusion, she put forth her hand and bade him enter the house. She would know more of Signor Tomato, this man who had Bertino in his keeping. Whither had he removed the bust? Where was Bertino to be found? Armando was able to answer both questions; also to recite the facts about Bertino’s harmless knife-play upon his uncle’s shoulder, his flight from the city, and the finding of him by the banker asleep in a water pipe.
While Armando’s message gave Carolina the elation of promised triumph, it brought gloom to Marianna. Well the girl read the soul of her guardian. Surely this sudden revival of Carolina’s spirits had but one meaning—a return to the scheme of uniting her in marriage with Signor Di Bello. But the horrid prospect did not strike so much terror to her soul now, for there dwelt a sweet assurance in the face of Armando, who was by her side. He would stand between her and this nuptial danger. She felt a strength equal to a firm repulse of Carolina—a strength that was lacking two hours before in that awful drive from the steamship.
For the first time the gristly heart of Carolina pulsed almost warmly for Bertino. Now he stood forth in white light as the blessed agent who had kept Juno out of that house—the knight who had slain the dragon of a threatening wife by marrying her. For once the truth burned into her consciousness that marriage was a crowning success. Only one more union—that of her brother and Marianna—and the strife would be over, her power firmly embedded. She would go to Bertino at once and lend him the aid he needed; at the same time she would gratify her thirst to make sure that all was as Armando had recounted.