Biagio Speranza came somewhat late, saluted the lady of the house and his friends, and seated himself in his usual place. Some embarrassment was felt at first, but gradually conversation became more or less general. Only Martinelli kept his round, owl-like eyes fixed on Speranza as though expecting any moment some explanation of his unworthy manner of acting, some sign of repentance.
Carolinona sat with lowered eyes; but from time to time she would look about her, and if she saw that no one was looking, give a rapid side glance at Speranza, and become greatly moved. She suffered; she felt that she suffered, but still she controlled herself so that no one noticed it. She had given orders to the servant not to open the door without first looking through the peep-hole. If Cocco Bertolli came in the daytime she was to tell him that her mistress was not at home; if in the evening, while the boarders were at table, before opening the front door she was to come into the dining-room and give warning.
At every ring of the bell they all stopped to listen, and the poor woman felt her heart almost burst with agitation until they went on talking.
After an unusually loud ring, Cedebonis remarked: “You will see that that is not he. He certainly will first try to get in by day, and not succeeding in this will return in the evening.” And this would undoubtedly have been the more logical method; but one thing Cedebonis did not take into account; Cocco Bertolli was mad. And so it happened that it was just he who rang the bell. The servant rushed into the room in alarm to announce him.
All rose in consternation, save Biagio Speranza. “I beg you,” said he calmly, “to remain seated. I alone must go. You go on chatting here quietly. You will see; two peaceful words, and I shall make him reasonable.”
He rose and moved toward the door; but before leaving the dining-room he turned and added, raising one hand: “I beg you, then.” But the Pentoni, who until then had controlled herself with difficulty, burst into tears. Some surrounded her, trying to comfort her; others went on tiptoe to listen outside the drawing-room door.
Biagio Speranza himself went to open the door, resolutely; but at sight of Cocco Bertolli he stood as though turned to stone. The unfortunate fellow seemed to have scarcely an ounce of flesh on his bones, and his enormous ox-like eyes in his wasted, cadaverous face were positively terrifying. He paused at sight of Biagio Speranza, and twisted his mouth into a ferocious sneer. “Ah, you!” he murmured.
“Pardon me, what do you want?” asked Biagio.
“Now!” Cocco Bertolli clenched his fist, his eyes almost bursting from their sockets, “I merely wish to say two words to the lady in yonder, and to cut off her ears and nose.”
“Good Heavens! You would spoil her for me!” cried Biagio, laughing. “Come, come, my dear poet; you must know that I am now master of this house, and you shall enter it neither now nor at any other time.”