"The luck is mine, signor," with a hearty hand–shake Guiseppe replied. "Out of Naples, where I was born and bred, I feel indeed a stranger in a strange land."
"Come, Guiseppe, let's celebrate our fortunate meeting. A game or two—what do you say, my friend?"
Together they visited a wine shop and there they drank and gambled at "Mora." Guiseppe lost.
"I'll drink and forget," he cried. So he went from one wine shop to another, drinking, losing, cursing his losses, drinking again to forget his ill–luck.
When Marta saw him coming toward herself and Pappina, she knew at once what the trouble was. She knew also that too much wine put him in an ugly mood. She placed her arm about Pappina and kissed her brow.
"Oh, carissima," she whispered, "if you love me, be patient with Guiseppe! He may abuse you, but remember that I love you."
Even before Marta had finished, Guiseppe was speaking.
"There's no fete day here till September, St. Matthew's Day," he said. Turning to Pappina, he continued: "Look here, girl, we are going where there will be a crowd of people promenading to–night. We are going to the Quay—they call it Corso Garibaldi. I'll have none of your impudence in that crowd to–night—none of your stubbornness; do you understand? When I say sing, you will sing. When I say dance, you will dance. Do you hear?"
"Si, signor," came faintly from Pappina's white lips. As she spoke she glanced at Marta, stifling her anger for the sake of the woman she loved.
"Then remember." He shook his fist in her face. She flushed scarlet, but said nothing. Guiseppe evidently was expecting a reply. He waited a moment, then continued his tirade: "Why don't you speak, girl? You stand there, red in the face, ready to kill me, and say nothing. Have out with it; what you've got to say I want to hear right now. I'll have none of your impudence to–night."