“A lie! She is the Presidentessa!” It was the staring man. His voice, loud and high pitched, resounded through the church and brought up every row of bowed heads. As he spoke the words he arose and left the pew, and stood close to the three at the balustrade. “She can not be that,” he went on, heedless of the priest’s upraised hands. “She must be the Presidentessa.” Signor Di Bello seemed ready to fall upon the intruder, and the sacerdotal hand restrained him. Two sacristans hurried up the aisle, but without danger to praying women, for these were all on their feet now. “The Presidentessa, I tell you--I that know so well.” He pointed his finger at the bride. Juno had winced at first, but now she understood it all, and knew she was safe for the present. “Did I not make every line of that face out of the marble? Don’t believe it, father. She is the Presidentessa. Juno! Oh, no, no! Child of the Mother, not that! Where is the peacock, if she is Juno?” By this time the assistants, each holding an arm, had led Armando to the sacristy, and closing the door, smothered the last part of his frantic outburst. The priest went on with the ceremony, but every bowed head in the pews had been lifted and every eye and ear was now alert. “Giorgio Di Bello, wilt thou take this woman to be thy wife----” “Stop! In the name of the good God, stop!” The words were shouted from the rear of the church by Signor Tomato, who hurried up the aisle, while the three at the altar stood silent, astounded. “That woman is already a wife,” the banker continued, puffing as though he had had a hard run for it. “I swear it by the Madonna of Mount Carmel. Her husband is alive. Only yesterday I saw him, and you know what the proverb says: Once a----” “Silence!” commanded the priest. “This is no place for oaths or--proverbs.” “Bah!” Signor Di Bello broke out. “The dog is crazy.” The priest eyed Juno a moment. “Well, what do you say, signorina?” “Don’t believe him, padre,” she answered. Then, turning to the banker: “Stupid one, you do not know what you are saying. It is some other woman.” The banker chuckled grimly and nodded his head in mock concurrence. “Ah, yes; you are right. I do not know you. It was some other woman. Oh that it had been! But alas! it was you--you, the last lady, and I, poor wretch, thought you the First Lady--the Presidentessa!” “The Presidentessa again?” said the priest, bewildered. “Yes, padre. So it was she tricked us--me and her husband. Some other woman! _Anima mia!_ Does a man forget the face that has robbed him? In marble I first saw it, and never has it left me, day or night. Ah, the trouble, grand trouble it has brought me! Seven hundred liras! All gone.--But you, Signor Di Bello, are rich. You will pay it back. You will be grateful; for have I not saved you from this woman? She has deceived me, she has deceived her husband; but see, I do not let her deceive you.”