It was a bright morning, and bright were the spirits of Signor Di Bello, and springy his step, as he walked to his shop in Paradise Park. To his view there was not a speck on the matrimonial prospect, and he exulted in the promise of laughing last at those who were now laughing at him. It was the day that the proofs were to be presented to Father Nicodemo, and he chuckled serenely over the plight that the banker must be in. He had gone less than a block when Armando rang the bell of Casa Di Bello, and Marianna, who had been watching for him eagerly at the window, threw open the door. Breathlessly she fell to telling him of the plans for the wedding and her consequent sense of impending disaster; how Carolina knew that Juno had one husband, and was helping her to get another! She had closed her and Angelica’s lips. What did it all mean? Something dreadful, she was sure. If Armando would only take her away. If---- The interview was cut off by the voice of Carolina, who appeared with her bonnet on and took charge of Armando. “Not a word,” she admonished him, “about Bertino’s return or his marriage to that baggage. Mind you do not tell a living soul. My reasons you will know at the proper time. Now, lead me to the--Last Lady.” Together they walked to the Caffè of the Beautiful Sicilian. On the threshold they came face to face with the ex-banker. He was in a fine frenzy of indignation. At daybreak that morning he had started from what was left of the iron villa with a push-cart load of dandelion leaves. After visiting the rectory and making to Father Nicodemo the humiliating report that the proofs had vanished, there had come to his ear news of the marble Queen of Springtide, and the talk, current on a thousand tongues, of her strong resemblance to the Neapolitan who sang at La Scala, and whom the priest had refused to marry to Signor Di Bello. And here was the bust of which he had been robbed. Oh, the money it had cost him! One hundred and forty dollars for duty. Ah! yes; it was the cause of his ruin. But for that cursed marble he would be still a signore and one of the influential bankers of Mulberry. He had demanded his property, but the foreman would not surrender it until he had proved his ownership. What an outrage! But it mattered not now, for they, Armando and Signorina Di Bello, would be his witnesses. “Who well does climb is helped in time.” “Excuse me, signore,” remarked Armando; “this bust does not belong to you.” “What!” shrieked the banker. “No; it is mine.” “Yours?” “I made it.” “You made it, eh?” the banker snapped. “Very good. But who paid for it? Eh, who paid for it? Answer that. Who paid the one hundred and forty dollars of Dogana--you or I? Give me back the duty money and you may have the infernal thing! Ugly yellow snout!”