ther Marianna nor Capuzzi heeded him in the least. As
for Pitichinaccio, he felt very uncomfortable. He had been obliged to
sit behind the Pyramid Doctor, whose great wig completely overshadowed
him. Not a single thing could he see on the stage, nor any of the
actors, and was, moreover, repeatedly bothered and annoyed by two
forward women who had placed themselves near him. They called him a
dear, comely little lady, and asked him if he was married, though to be
sure, he was very young, and whether he had any children, who they dare
be bound were sweet little creatures, and so forth. The cold sweat
stood in beads on poor Pitichinaccio's brow; he whined and whimpered,
and cursed the day he was born.

After the conclusion of the performance, Signor Pasquale waited until
the spectators had withdrawn from the theatre. The last light was
extinguished just as Signor Splendiano had lit a small piece of a wax
torch at it; and then Capuzzi, with his worthy friends and Marianna,
slowly and circumspectly set out on their return journey.

Pitichinaccio wept and screamed; Capuzzi, greatly to his vexation, had
to take him on his left arm, whilst with the right he led Marianna.
Doctor Splendiano showed the way with his miserable little bit of
torch, which only burned with difficulty, and even then in a feeble
sort of a way, so that the wretched light it cast merely served to
reveal to them the thick darkness of the night.

Whilst they were still a good distance from the Porta del Popolo they
all at once saw themselves surrounded by several tall figures closely
enveloped in mantles. At this moment the torch was knocked out of the
Doctor's hand, and went out on the ground. Capuzzi, as well as the
Doctor, stood still without uttering a sound. Then, without their
knowing where it came from, a pale reddish light fell upon the muffled
figures, and four grisly skulls riveted their hollow ghastly eyes upon
the Pyramid Doctor. "Woe--woe--woe betide thee, Splendiano
Accoramboni!" thus the terrible spectres shrieked in deep, sepulchral
tones. Then one of them wailed, "Do you know me? do you know me,
Splendiano? I am Cordier, the French painter, who was buried last week,
and whom your medicaments brought to his grave." Then the second, "Do
you know me, Splendiano? I am Kuefner, the German painter, whom you
poisoned with your infernal electuary." Then the third, "Do you know
me, Splendiano? I am Liers, the Fleming, whom you killed with your
pil