spendthrift!" shouted the real Capuzzi at intervals, growing more
and more enraged the higher the cost of this the most nonsensical of
dinners rose.

At length, when the list was finished, Pasquarello asked what had
induced him to give such a splendid banquet.

"To-morrow will be the happiest and most joyous day of my life,"
replied the fictitious Capuzzi. "For know, my good Pasquarello, that I
am going to celebrate to-morrow the auspicious marriage of my dear
niece Marianna. I am going to give her hand to that brave young fellow,
the best of all artists, Scacciati."

Hardly had the words fallen from his lips when the real Capuzzi leapt
to his feet, utterly beside himself, quite out of his mind, his face
all aflame with the most fiendish rage, and doubling his fists and
shaking them at his counterpart on the stage, he yelled at the top of
his voice, "No, you won't, no, you won't, you rascal! you scoundrel,
you,--Pasquale! Do you mean to cheat yourself out of your Marianna, you
hound? Are you going to throw her in the arms of that scoundrel,--sweet
Marianna, thy life, thy hope, thy all? Ah! look to it! Look to it! you
infatuated fool. Just remember what sort of a reception you will meet
with from yourself. You shall beat yourself black and blue with your
own hands, so that you will have no relish to think about banquets and
weddings!"

But the Capuzzi on the stage doubled his fists like the Capuzzi
below, and shouted in exactly the same furious way, and in the same
high-pitched voice, "May all the spirits of hell sit at your heart, you
abominable nonsensical Pasquale, you atrocious skinflint--you love-sick
old fool--you gaudy tricked-out ass with the cap and bells dangling
about your ears. Take care lest I snuff out the candle of your life,
and so at length put an end to the infamous tricks which you try to
foist upon the good, honest, modest Pasquale Capuzzi."

Amidst the most fearful cursing and swearing of the real Capuzzi, the
one on the stage dished up one fine anecdote after the other about him.

"You'd better attempt," shouted at last the fictitious Capuzzi, "you
only dare, Pasquale, you amorous old ape, to interfere with the
happiness of these two young people, whom Heaven has destined for each
other."

At this moment there appeared at the back of the stage Antonio
Scacciati and Marianna locked in each other's arms. Albeit the old
gentleman was at other times somewhat feeble on his legs, yet now fury
ga