Bertino went behind the counter, put on an apron, and held his tongue. By degrees the padrone’s ire cooled, until he became so tranquil as to take a chair. “Listen, my nephew,” he said, sprawling his legs and thrusting his hands in his pockets. “I will tell you a secret. This woman is to be my wife.” “Your what?” gasped Bertino. “My wife. Three months from yesterday she will be Signora Di Bello. I would marry her this very day but I promised--donkey that I was!--I promised not to take a wife for three months; a pledge that I can’t break, for it was given on San Giorgio’s Day. Oh, what a donkey!” Bertino did not dare ask any questions, but he resolved that something should be done at once to head off his uncle; not another day, nay, not a single hour, must pass until he and Juno should be man and wife. He found an excuse to leave the shop, and went to Juno’s humble abode. “Come with me at once, _carissima_!” he cried. “Come to the Church of San Loretto. It is open to-day for masses, and Father Bernardo is there. We shall be married this very hour.” “Why such haste?” she asked. “Ah, my angel, can you ask? I wish to make sure of you--to know that you are really mine.” Together they made their way through Mulberry, walking with step rapid and resolute. As they entered Elizabeth Street and approached the portals of San Loretto, Bertino recollected with a tremor of fear the threat of his uncle: “If you don’t keep away from that woman I’ll turn you from my door--I’ll have your heart’s blood!” They were about to ascend the church steps when he caught Juno by the arm and drew back. “Come away from here,” he said hoarsely. “What is the matter?” “Come away! We must go to some other church. Here it is that the pigs of Sicilians get married. It is no place for a Genovese like me or a fine Neapolitan like you. Come, we shall find another priest.” In secrecy he saw his one chance of saving himself for the present from the consequences of openly defying Signor Di Bello. To be married at the altar of San Loretto, to which dozens of sharp eyes and gossiping tongues were always directed in prayer, would be to proclaim the nuptials to all Mulberry before vesper bells should be rung that day. He led her through Houston Street and across the Bowery to a rectory in lower Second Avenue, a quarter that lies only a few blocks beyond the frontier of Mulberry, but with a life as remote and distinct from that of the Italian colony as though a hundred leagues of sea divided them. A brief mumbling in a little parlour, and they were man and wife.