“And now, _carina_,” he said, regarding her tenderly, “the answer that you promised to-day.” “It is ready,” she said, her eye on the letter. “I will be your wife.” “Joy!” he cried, and gave her a resonant kiss that startled two chess-players from their absorption and evoked a sneer from the _caffè_ waitress. * * * * * That night Bertino went with Aunt Carolina to the ship. Before saying _buon viaggio_ he handed her the letter for the sculptor. “May you guard it well, my aunt!” he said solemnly. “It is of great value.” CHAPTER IX THE PERPETUA MEETS A BEAR THE lookout had sighted Genoa, but to many eager eyes that peered from the rail there lay naught in the northern distance save the imperial sapphire sparkling to the clear and eternal blue. After a while, the magic wand of proximity touching east and west, the great Mediterranean gem revealed its setting; the Riviera di Levante lazily unfolded her beauty to the eager men and women in the bow. There was one passenger whose soul missed the enchantment. A matter of greater import filled her mind and dimmed her vision--her mission to secure a wife for Casa Di Bello. She did show an interest in the fairy picture that was coming out all around, but not until the ship had steamed so far shoreward that the hamlets of the slopes showed their shining faces through the mountain greenery. Then she stood intently regarding the land, her gaze set far above the white turrets and flaring walls of the Sea City that took form out of the yellow summer haze. “O Genova Superba! Qual Città te paragon?” It was Cardinali that Carolina strained her eyes to discern, and at last she beheld it--a weather-beaten little town perched high on a crag of rock. Then she breathed content and awaited patiently the time for landing. Within an hour after her well-shod feet had pressed the soil she was snugly installed, trunk and handtraps, in a veteran victoria drawn by a raw recruit of a horse, whose youthful antics kept the driver busy. With her luggage safely at her side and the landing accomplished without mishap, she settled back on the cushion and gave herself up to ease and self-adoration. How much wiser and abler she was than those excitable, nervous women whom she had left on the quay, still fuming over their baggage and the customs examination! Complacently she judged herself a very superior person, and never before had she felt on better terms with herself. The raw recruit trotted decorously enough past the monument of the Man that made an Egg stand on End, and clattered under the marble arch, whereon St. George, champion of Genoa, was trampling a dragon. Presently the city lay at her back, and she began to breathe the good air of home in the white dust of the highway, the pungent scent of the sage, the sweetness of the honeysuckle and oleander.