iano" was an old Bolognese, of the name of Maria Aglia. As a matter
of course, all the fashionable world of Rome soon came thronging to the
little theatre outside the Porto del Popolo. The name of Formica was on
everybody's lips; and in the streets as in the theatre, all voices were
crying, with the utmost enthusiasm, "Oh, Formica! Formica benedetto!
Oh, Formicisimo!" He was looked upon as a supernatural being; and many
an old woman, ashake with laughter in the theatre, would (if anybody
ventured to criticise Formica's action in the slightest degree) turn
grave, and say, with the utmost seriousness and solemnity--

"Scherza coi fanti e lascia star santi."

This was because, out of the theatre, Formica was an unfathomable
mystery. No one ever saw him anywhere, and every attempt to come upon
his traces was vain. Nothing as to where he lived could be got out of
Musso.

Such was the theatre to which Marianna wished to go.

"Let us fly straight at our enemies' throats," Salvator said; "the walk
home from the theatre to the town offers us a most admirable
opportunity."

He then communicated a plan to Antonio, which seemed very risky and
daring, but which the latter adopted with delight, thinking it would
enable him to rescue his Marianna from the abominable Capuzzi;
moreover, it pleased him well that Salvator made one great feature of
it the punishing of the Pyramid Doctor.

When evening came, Salvator and Antonio each took a guitar, went to
Strada Ripetta, and (by way of annoying old Capuzzi) treated the lovely
Marianna to the most exquisite _serenata_ imaginable. For Salvator
played and sang like a master, and Antonio had a lovely tenor voice,
and was almost an Odoardo Ceccarelli. Signor Pasquale of course came
out on to the balcony, and scolded down at the singers, ordering them
to hold their peace; but the neighbours, whom the beautiful music had
brought to their windows, cried out to him, asking him whether, as he
and his friends were in the habit of howling and screaming like all the
demons in hell, he wouldn't suffer such a thing as a little _good_
music in the street? Let him be off into the house, they said, and stop
his ears, if he didn't want to hear the beautiful singing. Thus Signor
Pasquale was obliged, to his torture, to endure Salvator and Antonio's
singing, all night long--songs which at times consisted of the sweetest
words of love, and at others ridiculed the folly of amorous old men.