But when the carriage approached the Porta Etnea for the third time, a merry sound of horns was heard from the road outside.
And through the gate swung a big, high coach in the English style.
It was meant to look old-fashioned also. The postilion riding on the off leader had leather trousers, and a wig tied in a pig-tail. The coach was like an old diligence, with the body behind the coach box and seats on the roof.
But everything was new; the horses were magnificent, powerful animals, carriage and harness shone, and the passengers were some young gentlemen and ladies from Catania, who were making an excursion up Etna. And they could not help laughing as they drove by the old gala-carriage. They leaned over from where they sat on the high roof to look at it, and their laughter sounded very loud and echoed between the high, silent houses of Diamante.
Donna Micaela was very unhappy. They were some of her old circle of friends. What would they not say when they came home? “We have seen Micaela Palmeri in Diamante.” And they would laugh and talk, laugh and talk.
Her life seemed so squalid. She was nothing but the slave of a fool. Her whole life long she would never do anything but chat with Don Ferrante.
When she came home she was quite exhausted. She was so tired and weak that she could scarcely drag herself up the steps.
And all the time Don Ferrante was rejoicing in his good fortune at having met all those fine people, and having been seen in his state. He told her that now no one would ask whether she was ugly, or whether her father had stolen. Now people knew that she was the wife of a man of rank.
After dinner Donna Micaela sat quite silent, and let her father talk to Don Ferrante. Then a mandolin began to sound quite softly in the street under the window of the summer palace. It was a single mandolin with no accompaniment of guitar or violin. Nothing could be more light and airy; nothing more captivating and affecting. No one could think that human hands were touching the strings. It was as if bees and crickets and grasshoppers were giving a concert.
“There is some one again who has fallen in love with Giannita,” said Don Ferrante. “That is a woman, Giannita. Any one can see that she is pretty. If I were young I should fall in love with Giannita. She knows how to love.”