That his lively taste for Juno’s grace of person had become second to a desire to avert the rising gale of mockery, Carolina understood very well. And upon this change of his nuptial motive she rested full confidence of success for her own designs. No bar to her project showed itself until she visited Bertino, at the cheap hotel on the East Side, whither he and Armando had taken themselves. Then she found that the leading man of her drama had notions of his own about his part that would wreck the plot. He was for killing the feminine villain before the curtain rose. To her directions that he keep out of sight until Sunday he demurred vehemently. How could he wait so long when the _vendetta_ was boiling in his veins? His wife had done him a deadly wrong, and, _per Dio!_ deadly should be the accounting. “See the grand trouble she has caused to me, to my friend, and to poor Marianna!” “To Marianna?” she asked, in genuine wonder. “What wrong has she done her?” “Were not she and Armando to wed when his Presidentessa should be sold? A long time they must wait now. Thundering heavens! But she shall pay.” “You are mistaken,” rejoined Carolina, with a note of authority. “It would have made no difference to Marianna. She was not to wed Armando in any case.” “I know better. Anyway, I shall not sit here biting my lips until the Feast of Sunday, and perhaps be cheated of my right. Who knows when she may fly?” “No fear of that.” “No? Why not? I tell you she knows what to expect from me, and is no simpleton.” Then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, first opening the door and making sure that there was no listener in the hall. “Twice I would have killed her, but once I deceived myself, and the other time she gammoned me with a lie that made me try to kill my uncle. Don’t you see that I can not wait here while she may be getting away?” “I promise you she will not leave Mulberry. Do you wish to know why? Well, it is because she thinks you have fled from America and that she is free to become your uncle’s wife. Ah! don’t you see the fine _vendetta_ I am hatching for you? On the Feast of Sunday you appear and stop the wedding. The Neapolitan beast is kicked out of Casa Di Bello. You follow her and--claim your rights. Is it not a sweet _vendetta_?” “Yes,” said Bertino after a pause. “I will wait.” CHAPTER XXIII A PARTNERSHIP IN TEN-INCH ST. PETERS