she. "We'll have a grand wedding in the Cathedral.
The Bishop shall officiate, in his very best cope and mitre, and you,
with your grandest flourish, shall give the bride away."

The Commendatore shrugged his shoulders, and gazed for commiseration at
the sky.

"You are incomprehensible," he said. "Haven't I spent an hour telling
you he is affianced to a lady in England?"

"No," said Susanna; "only something like ten minutes."

"Brrr," said the Commendatore, contemptuous of the quibble.

"And anyhow, I shall marry him," said Susanna. "You have made me quite
fall in love with him, by your glowing description--and I rather liked
him before. The lady in England is neither here nor there. We 'll be
married in the Cathedral, where so many generations of our ancestors
have been married. His friend Mr. Willes shall be best man; and the
Pontes shall pontificate in their most British manner, with
wedding-favours sent out from London. And so the ancient legitimate
line of the Valdeschi shall be restored."

"You are mad," said the Commendatore, simply.

"And you shall offer us a wedding-breakfast at the Villa Fregi," she
pursued. "We 'll have all sorts of nice things to eat and drink, and
you shall propose the health of the bride, and make a magnificent
speech. And I shall wear my coronet--which I have never yet worn--for
then I shall be the Countess of Sampaolo with a clear right to the
title. And now I 'll tell you a secret. Would you like me to tell you
a secret?" she inquired.

"I can tell _you_ a secret that will soon be a matter of public
notoriety," said the Commendatore. "And that is that you 've clean
gone out of your senses."

"The lady he is engaged to in England," said Susanna, "guess who she
is. I give it to you in a million."

"How the devil can I guess who she is?" said the Commendatore.

"Well, then, listen," said Susanna. "You must n't faint, or explode,
or anything--but the lady he's engaged to in England is your old
friend--that bold adventuress, that knightess errant--the widow
Torrebianca."

"_Domeniddio_!" gasped the Commendatore, falling back in his chair.

And I half think he would have pulled his moustaches out by their roots
if Susanna had n't interceded with him to spare them.

"Don't--don't," she pleaded. "You won't have any left."

"_Domeniddio_!" he gasped three separate times, on three separate notes.

"If you're surprised," said Susanna, "think how much more surprise