A great shout went up. Red flags, red parasols, rags, blankets, anything that told of Luigi's colors, rose and fluttered in the sunlight. "_Primo! Primo!_" yelled the crowd. "Viva Castellani! Viva Zanaletto!" Then, while the whole concourse of people held their breaths, their hearts in their mouths, Luigi with his fingers turned to steel, shot past Francesco with the dash of a gull, and amid the shouts of thousands lifted his victorious hat to the multitude. For the first time in sixty years the same pair of arms had won five races! Luigi was _Primo_ and the Castellani the victors of the sea. * * * * * * * When Luigi's boat had reached the main landing of the Gardens and he had mounted the great flight of marble steps, a hundred hands held out to him joyous welcome. Amalia, who had forced her way to his side, threw her arms about his neck. "Did the boy bet, child?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his face. "Yes, signore." "On Francesco?" "No, dear Luigi, on you! Oh, I am so happy!" "And what changed his mind?" "The soldo!" "The soldo! That makes me happy, too. Add it to your dowry, child," and he placed the coin in her hand. She wears it now as a charm. The good priest blessed it with her wedding-ring. A POINT OF HONOR I The omnibus stopped in the garden, or, to be more exact, at the porch of the hotel opening into the garden. Not the ordinary omnibus with a flapping door fastened with a strap leading to the boot-leg of the man on top, a post-office box inside with a glass front, holding a smoky kerosene lamp, and two long pew-cushioned seats placed so close together that everybody rubs everybody else's knees when it is full; not that kind of an omnibus at all, but a wide, low, yellow-painted (yellow as a canary), morocco-cushioned, go-to-the-theatre-in kind of an omnibus drawn by a pair of stout Normandy horses, with two men in livery on the box in front and another on the lower step behind who helps you in and out and takes your bundles and does any number of delightful and courteous things. This yellow-painted chariot, moreover, was just the kind of a vehicle that should have moved in and out of this flower-decked garden. Not only did its color harmonize with the surroundings--quite as a mass of yellow nasturtiums harmonizes with the peculiar soft green of its leaves--but its appointments were quite in keeping with the luxury and distinction of the place. For only millionaires and princes, and people who travel with valets and maids, and now and then a staid old painter like myself who is willing to be tucked away anywhere, but whose calling is supposed to lend éclat to the register, are ever to be found there.