xecution of their plot, so that nothing might suggest
ideas of his enemies to the old man. And Marianna innocently remarked
that, much as she hated Salvator and Antonio, she would have been very
glad to hear their singing, for their music, soaring on the breeze in
the night, surpassed everything.

Pasquale took mental note of this, and, as an exquisite piece of
gallantry, determined to delight and surprise his beloved with a
serenata, composed by himself, and carefully rehearsed with his
companions. So the very night before the projected visit to the theatre
he slipped secretly out and fetched his two associates, who were
prepared beforehand. But no sooner had they struck the first chords on
their guitars than Michele (whom his master had unfortunately forgotten
to warn of what was going to happen), in high glee at the near prospect
of earning the promised reward, burst out at the door, and set to work
unmercifully becudgelling the musicians. What happened afterwards we
know. Of course it was out of the question that either Splendiano or
Pitichinaccio could go with Pasquale to the theatre, as they were lying
in their beds covered all over with sticking-plaster. But Signor
Pasquale could not refrain from going himself, although his shoulders
and back smarted not a little from the licking he had had; every note
of his aria was a rope dragging him there irresistibly.

"Now that the obstacle which we thought insurmountable has cleared
itself out of the way of its own accord," said Salvator to Antonio,
"everything depends upon your adroitness in not letting slip, when it
comes, the proper moment for carrying your Marianna off from Nicolo's
theatre. But you will not fail; and I greet you already as the
bridegroom of Capuzzi's beautiful niece, who will be your wife in a few
days. I wish you every happiness, Antonio, although it goes to my very
marrow when I think of your marriage."

"What do you mean, Salvator?" asked Antonio.

"Call it whim, or fanciful idea, Antonio," he answered; "the long and
the short of it is, I love women; but every one of them, even her whom
I am madly in love with, for whom I would gladly die, affects my mind
with an apprehension which raises in me the most inexplicable and
mysterious shudder the moment I think of a union with her such as
marriage would be. The unfathomable element in woman's nature mockingly
sets all the weapons of our sex at complete defiance. She whom we
believe to have devoted