ely know these ladies."

The Marchesino pursed his lips together. But he only said, "Si, si."
He did not mean to quarrel with Emilio yet. To do so might complicate
matters with the ladies.

As they entered the Via del Popolo, and drew near to the Piazza di
Masaniello, his excitement increased, stirred by the sight of the crowds
of people, who were all streaming in the same direction past the iron
rails of the port, beyond which, above the long and ghostly sheds that
skirt the sea, rose the tapering masts of vessels lying at anchor.
Plans buzzed in his head. He called upon all his shrewdness, all
his trickiness of the South. He had little doubt of his capacity
to out-manoeuvre Emilio and the Signora. And if the Signorina were
favorable to him, he believed that he might even get the better
of Gaspare, in whom he divined a watchful hostility. But would the
Signorina help him? He could not tell. How can one ever tell what a girl
will do at a given moment?

With a jerk the carriage drew up beneath the walls of the prison that
frowns upon the Piazza di Masaniello, and the Marchesino roused himself
to the battle and sprang out. The hum of the great crowd already
assembled, the brilliance of the illuminations that lit up the houses,
Nuvolo's tower, the facade of the Church of the Carmine, and the
adjoining monastery, the loud music of the band that was stationed in
the Kiosk before the enclosure, stirred his young blood. As he went
quickly to help Hermione and Vere, he shot a glance almost of contempt
at the gray hairs of Emilio, who was getting out of the carriage slowly.
Artois saw the glance and understood it. For a moment he stood still.
Then he paid the coachman and moved on, encompassed by the masses of
people who were struggling gayly towards the centre of the square,
intent upon seeing the big doll that was enthroned there dressed as
Masaniello.

"We had better go into the enclosure. Don't you think so?" he said to
Hermione.

"If you like. I am ready for anything."

"We can walk about afterwards. Perhaps the crush will be less when the
fire-balloon has gone up."

The Marchesino said nothing, and they gained the enclosure, where rows
of little chairs stood on the short grass that edges the side of the
prison that looks upon the Piazza. Gaspare, who on such occasions
was full of energy and singularly adroit, found them good places in a
moment.

"Ecco, Signora! Ecco, Signorina!"

"Madre, may I stand on my chai