That evening all the other boarders, including Trunfo, arrived at the house. Then Biagio Speranza arrived, and was at once assailed with questions.
“Why, of course! Naturally!” he answered with a gay face. “When did I return? Exactly at midnight. The hour of fantasy. The door was closed, and she, the very one who has been denying it, threw me down the key from her window. Why deny it, my wife? We owe this satisfaction to our friends who are so interested in our conjugal felicity. And this evening you will see me remain here at my post, as master of the house; and I hope that this will satisfy you, and that from now on you will allow me to enjoy the pleasures of married life in peace. Is it agreed?”
He seated himself beside Carolinona; during the meal he ostentatiously displayed, amid general merriment, all the attentions, the manners of an enamored monkey which a newly married man should show to his bride, and Carolinona let him have his way, and laughed too.
At a certain point Trunfo gruffly asked Biagio Speranza: “Will you permit me to continue correcting my papers here?”
“No, no!” Biagio hastened to reassure him. “You, dear maestro, are free to suit your own convenience here by day or night. Am I not right, Carolinona?”
“The maestro,” said she, somewhat quietly, “has never caused me the least annoyance.”
“Very well then!” concluded Trunfo, rising.
He made a quick, slight bow, with his hands resting on the back of his chair, and left the room, suffocated with bile.
“My friends,” remarked Biagio Speranza, a little later, “in the interest of my wife, I advise you to stop, if you do not wish to make her lose a client. A joke is all very well, but it should not be allowed to injure the pocket—”
“Oh, as for you, joking aside,” declared Cariolin, rising from the table with the others, “keep your promise, and do not take this excuse. We are going, and wish you a pleasant evening.”