She was conscious that she did not appear at her ease, and, misinterpreting the smile that passed between Miss Basil and Mr. Redmond, she would have returned his offering instantly, but that, to her great surprise, Miss Basil started forward with a sort of shy impulsiveness, and, before Joanna was well aware of what the prim woman would do, the geraniums were pinned in her hair. Very stiff and ungraceful they stood bristling, but there was no mirror at hand to betray to Joanna their aggressive altitude; and the mere fact that Pamela would do this much for her adornment gave the child a pleasure in the flowers that compensated for the disappointment about the jewels. The next moment, before her first surprise had subsided, in came Mrs. Basil, leaning on her ivory-headed staff, like an old fairy godmother; and, after a most gracious "Jewels?" repeated Miss Basil. "What greeting to Basil Redmond, as if wonders do you mean, Joanna ?" My jewels," repeated Joanna, impatient- "When you are a woman grown, child," "I am no child," said Joanna, upon whom admiration so tardy made no impression; "don't you see my train?" "You are detaining me," said Miss Basil, with a slight flush of annoyance; "and some one is waiting to see me." They were at the sitting-room door now, and Basil Redmond came forward, smiling. A frown, quick and angry, darkened Joanna's face. Here was this stranger, again, standing between Pamela and herself. What right had he to smile in that way? Yet she could not help feeling that there was something kindly in his smile, vexatious as it was to hear Pamela appeal to him. were never to cease, she turned admiringly No time was there for more; the guests "She does not need ornaments, so young Ruffner, elaborately dressed, and serenely as she is?" "So young!" Hateful words to Joanna, by which she knew that this appeal was indicative of a determination not to indulge her vanity with the rubies and pearls. Redmond, hesitating just a little, turned to the table upon which stood a vase of white geranium, and, with that smile Joanna in her heart called "masterful," said : "If this young lady will permit a sugges tion from me, these would be the prettiest ornaments she could wear." He spoke with some diffidence, holding out to her a spray of the flowers; and Joanna half- relented toward him because he called her a young lady! She was most anxious to conduct herself with becoming propriety, now that she stood on the threshold of society; but she was at a loss to know what a young lady should do under such circumstances. She cast an imploring glance toward Miss Basil, a glance that plainly asked, "What ought a young lady to do when a gentleman offers flowers?" But, receiving no sign by which she could be guided, she shyly put forth her hand and took them, with very much the manner of a child. conscious of her own perfection; Mrs. Ruff- were present on this occasion Mrs. Carl Tomkins, a woman of exceptional culture, according to the verdict of Middleborough ; Mr. Carl Tomkins, a gentleman eminent in the life-assurance busines, but overshadowed in society by his wife; old Mrs. Paul Caruthers, ancient, deaf, and garrulous; Miss Caruthers, a pretty, somewhat passée young lady, who had been invited for Mr. Sam Ruffner's behoof; Dr. Garnet, the loud, aggressive man of medicine; nervous little Mr. Leasom, of St. John's; and portly Chancellor Page, remarkable for silence and appetite. There were no young companions for Joanna; Arthur was there, indeed, but he took good care not to attach himself to her, for he felt his aunt's eyes upon him, and he obligingly devoted himself to Mrs. Stargold So Joanna sat in a corner looking on, rather glad, indeed, to escape the notice of so formidable a company. In such a party, nothing of any moment ever happens before dinner. Every one then is in a state of dull and decorous expectation, and a little girl in a corner is liable to be overlooked and ignored. It was a relief -it always is a relief-when dinner was announced. Before Joanna could penetrate the mystery of the magical ease and celerity with which each gentleman, without clashing with his neighbor, selected some particular lady, a voice at her side said: "Joanna, I am to have the pleasure of taking you in to dinner." It was Basil Redmond; and Joanna, though conscious of a little disappointment that it was not Arthur, felt a quick thrill of delight at the unexpected distinction of being "handed in " to dinner. She remembered such things in books she had read, and her color rose, her eyes sparkled with the thought that she was now indeed about to enter upon the delightful realities of life. With one passing sigh for poor 'Mela's "sad exclusion from the doors of bliss," she put her hand on Mr. Redmond's arm, and walked, she knew not how, to the dining-room. Dinner, to which she had looked forward with considerable anxiety of mind, as the great ordeal that should stamp her future fitness for society, passed off smoothly enough; there were no failures, there was no awkward contre-temps, no lack of every thing needful. Nothing of this kind, however, had she feared; she knew that Miss Basil, who was behind the scenes, would have every thing perfect, and that old Thurston could be implicitly relied upon; for his pride was up when Mrs. Basil gave a dinner, and he made his assistant, hired for the occasion, feel that it would not do to merit his wrath. What Joanna doubted was her own ability to perform her part creditably, a doubt that quite deprived the poor child of appetite. It was not possible, of course, that she could be guilty of any barbarism, for Miss Basil had been very strict in teaching the proprieties of ordinary life; but Miss Basil dined without ceremony, and poor Joanna was haunted by a terror of transgressing the formidable etiThere were a few people in Middlebor-quette of dinner-parties, of which she had a ough whom Mrs. Basil delighted to honor when she gave one of her rare dinner-parties, and besides Mrs. Stargold and her suite there dim but colossal idea. She might have spared herself all anxiety, however; for between Miss Caruthers, who absorbed Mr. Redmond on the one side of the poor little débutante, and Miss Ruffner, who engaged Mr. Carl Tomkins on the other, Joanna attracted no attention. After dinner she drifted back into her corner again; but here she was no longer so fortunate as to escape notice. Mrs. Paul Caruthers espied her, and, puzzled by a face she had not seen half a dozen times, she turned her best ear to Mrs. Carl Tomkins, inquiring, in an audible whisper, who she was. Mrs. Carl Tomkins appealed to Mrs. Ruffner, who, with good-natured eagerness to gratify innocent curiosity, mildly roared the information that she was "old Judge Basil's granddaughter." All eyes were immediately turned upon the blushing Joanna. "Poor thing! poor thing!" said Mrs. Paul Caruthers, who, being old herself, and done with folly, invariably pitied all young people. "Not so very poor, I fancy," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins. "That queer Miss Basil, who is never seen, except at church-" (Was Pamela, then, queer? Joanna knew that her excellent cousin was strict and exacting; but to hear the slighting judgment of the world pronounced upon her thus was a shock.) "Sb-h!" said good-natured Mrs. Ruffner, with loud sibilation, for she saw Joanna's telltale face. "A woman of good, sound sense," amended Mrs. Carl Tomkins, promptly. "She has shown it by taking out a policy for the benefit of that child." On the subject of life-assurance, Mrs. Carl Tomkins was thoroughly imbued with her husband's views. "You don't tell me so!" exclaimed Mrs. Ruffner, forgetting all about Joanna. "Where did she get money to pay the premium, or whatever you call it?" "She saved it, I suppose," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins. "She's been saving for years." "La!" exclaimed Mrs. Ruffner, incredulously. "How could she save out of a bare living?" Ruffner, it is Mr. Tomkins's opinion that every woman in the South might insure her life for somebody's benefit, if she would exercise a little forethought and management, like this Miss Basil now. Like the great Sully, she is 'fertile in resources.' But who the great Sully was, nobody in that company, except Mrs. Carl Tomkins could have told. However, people felt rather flattered when she made an allusion they could not understand, and they listened attentively. "Everybody knows that Miss Basil sells vegetables and fruits in the town; and she makes wine; she sells a great deal of blackberry - wine, I'm told." "Would you drink blackberry-wine, Mrs. Tomkins?" asked Mr. Sam Ruffner, making a face. "Oh, you funny man!" cackled Miss Caruthers. "Why, plenty of people drink blackberry-wine, now; it's cheap. And Miss Basil makes it-" "Speak softly," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins, glancing around. "Remember where we are. Yes, Miss Basil, like the great Sully, is 'fertile in resources;' and I've heard that she has a romantic history." "What is it, pray?" cried Mrs. Ruffner and Miss Caruthers, eagerly. "Do tell us." "What are you saying?" groaned Mrs. Paul Caruthers. "Everybody speaks so indistinctly, nowadays." "La! why doesn't your aunt carry a trumpet?" said Mrs. Ruffner, impatiently, to Miss Caruthers; but she leaned forward with good-humored alacrity, and whispered to the old lady so loudly that poor little Joanna, hemmed into her corner, heard every word. "Miss Basil, you know, ma'am; they say she has a very romantic history." The old lady gravely nodded her thanks to her informant; and, turning with owl-like deliberation to Mrs. Carl Tomkins, said: "I've heard as much hinted before." And then the five heads, Sam Ruffner's included, drew together, and "Buz-buzManagement," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins, buz" was all Joanna heard, until old Mrs. Ca briefly. "Let me into your charming circle, ladies, I entreat!" cried Miss Caruthers, rushing across the room with a pretty, juvenile air. "The gentlemen are discussing cotton and politics, subjects inevitable among gentlemen; and I, alas! have not, like Mrs. Basil, and Miss Ruffner, and Mrs. Stargold, the intelligence and experience. to appreciate those topics. I know you must be talking about something within my comprehension?" "Do be quiet, Aurelia!" said Mrs. Paul Caruthers, inclining her good ear. "I can't hear what's going on." "Oh, don't you come here, Mr. Ruffner!" cried Miss Caruthers, shaking her head playfully at Sam, who had sauntered lazily after her. "Here's gossip, and gentlemen hate gossip." "Go on, Mrs. Tomkins," said Mrs. Paul Caruthers, impatiently. "Don't mind Aurelia. What's that about a man's age? Whose age?" "I was speaking of a WOMAN'S MANAGEMENT," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins, raising her voice irritably, as some people are apt to do when the deaf fail to hear. "My dear Mrs. tion of an emperor and empress, or what a singular fate afterward befell their majesties. Only a fugitive paper, similar to those sold at country fairs by thousands for a small copper coin, preserved the strange history of this coronation, and the poetic fancy of the Piedmontese and Lombardy peasants surrounded the historic germ with all sorts of wonderful accessories, so that at the present day it is difficult to effect a total separation between fact and fiction. The main events of the story, however, occurred as here related: At the beginning of the year 1820, when Carl Felix, after suppressing all the revolu tionary attempts of the Carbonari, asserted his right to the throne of Piedmont, there lived in one of the forest-huts on the outskirts of the village of Spinetta two beautiful sisters, who were held in universal respect for their virtue and piety. They had lost both parents at a very early age, when the younger, Margheritina, was scarcely three years old. The mother died of grief at the sad fate of her husband, who accompanied Napoleon's army to Moscow and perished in crossing the Beresina. Positive news that he was really dead, and had not been taken prisoner, did not arrive for several years after that terrible national tragedy, and the good wife's feeble flame of life died with the spark of hope she had always cherished. The elder girl, named Pia, was just fifteen years old when she was left an orphan with her little sister, but she would not hear of giving the child to the care of strangers, in order to earn her own support at service. She remained in the little house her father had built, maintained herself and the child by the earnings of her distaff and the products of a little field of maize, and meantime kept herself and sister so neatly dressed and so faultlessly modest and honest that the greatest praise was bestowed upon her, and mothers were in the habit of holding up the two orphan girls to their daughters as models of good behavior. The praise was hardly earned; for Pia's poverty forced her to work from morning till night merely to keep from starving, and would not suffer her to put her spinning-wheel in the corner even on holidays. And she might have been so much more comfortable if she had only chosen. It was not only that assistance and friendly gifts were offered from many quarters, while others would gladly have taken her sister, who was a remarkably pretty and clever child, but she received many a proposal for her hand, for she was considered the prettiest girl in the village, and any man, even the richest, would have been glad to win such a housewife. But she only shook her head, declined all gifts, and sent away with a long face and heavy heart one after another of the young men who wooed her. This prudish conduct, of course, made her an object of suspicion to young and old, and even the village pastor at last found himself obliged to speak to the young girl about the strange pride which led her to rely so entirely upon herself. Her explanation revealed no sin, so she did not confide it to the guardian of her soul under the seal of confession, and therefore the whole village soon knew with what sort of eyes Pia viewed her future. companions felt no special affection for her, But this slander was of no avail with the more and more rare; yet, it was still on their She had come into the world on the 14th of June, 1800, at the time when the battle of Marengo was being fought in the vicinity of Spinetta. The mother in her hour of peril had heard the thunder of the French cannon, and trembled with fear, as her husband was serving under Desaix. The child was thus undoubtedly born under the influence of the planet Mars, and had for its father a hero, whom the first consul himself praised and promoted to the rank of sergeant on the battle-field. But the family pride rose still higher when five years later the mighty man before whom all the kingdoms of the earth trembled once more came into the vicinity of the humble village, now Emperor of the French, and on his way to Milan to receive the crown of Italy. The emperor held a magnificent review on the battle-field of Marengo, and the sergeant's wife, unable to resist the temp-charge of her little sister these fancies grew tation, set out with her child to witness the superb spectacle. The bright little girl of five, of course, did not clearly understand what all this meant; but, when the review of the troops was over, and the emperor with his brilliant suite rode slowly along the road to Alessandria, the mother stood in the first rank of the boundless living wall formed by the peasants from the neighboring villages, holding in her arms the little Pia, who usually walked stoutly on her own tiny feet, that the child might have a good view of the emperor. When shouts now arose of "There he comes! That is be! The one in front on the gray horse! Evviva l'Imperatore!" the little girl, as the emperor's keen, dark eyes fell on her rosy face, stretched out both arms toward the wonderful hero, shouting her evviva in so clear a voice that the childish tones rose high above the tumult and fell on the ear of the monarch, who checked his horse for a moment. The next instant he lifted the little girl on the saddle before him, gazed steadily for a few seconds into the large black eyes which bore the look without the quiver of an eyelash, kissed the little forehead framed in curly hair, and then returned the child to its mother, who, speechless with delight at this unprecedented favor, stood by the road-side like a statue, and, absorbed in gazing after the retreating figure of the conqueror, failed to see her own husband, when soon after, wearied and covered with dust, he marched in his regiment past his wife and child. No one will wonder that this event, occurring before so many eye-witnesses, and especially intimate acquaintances from the village, should produce an unusual and lasting influence. "That is Pia whom the emperor kissed" was repeated for years whenever a stranger in Spinetta noticed the beautiful slender girl, who on her part, in dress and bearing, seemed to show that she felt herself as it were ennobled by this fairy-like event of her childhood. In spite of her poverty, Pia always wore shoes and stockings, and never allowed a spot to remain on her petticoat or the coarse linen, spun and woven by her own hands, while she wore her long, thick hair above her brow in a heavy braid that looked almost like a black diadem. Her But her aversion to listen to any of her numerous suitors was not based upon the fact that she considered herself only fit for a noble lord, but, as she blushingly confessed to the priest, owing to her fond and faithful love for the poorest lad in the whole village. This was a certain Maino, a peasant-lad, who, like Pia, had lost his parents at an early age, and was forced to earn an honest but scanty living, first as a day-laborer, and afterward as a mason's apprentice. This had neither paralyzed his courage nor arrogance, and there was no bolder or gayer lad far or near. He was a handsome fellow, too, with thick, curly hair, and flashing dark eyes, a broad chest, and thighs like a stag; besides, he had a beautiful clear voice, and knew hundreds of songs, which he accompanied on his guitar. His only fault, except his poverty, was a fiery temper, that often involved him in brawls, where knives leaped from their sheaths more quickly than was advisable. But these quarrels had never yet had any fatal result, and the older Maino grew, an overweening pride, rather than reason, held his passion in check, so that he avoided common brawls, and reserved his anger for greater occasions. Love, too, had its share in taming the wild fellow. Pia was only a half-grown girl when Maino told her that she must belong to nobody but him, but, in spite of her imperial dreams, the child made no objections. Her young lover's poverty did not alarm her. She knew by her own experience that true nobility and a royal nature can exist in the simplest garb. Only when her mother died she insisted that he should keep away from her, and tell no one of the secret tie between them until he had made enough to establish a house of his own, in which there must also be a place for her sister. She would willingly wait for him, but he must first serve his apprenticeship-she would give her hand to no one save a free and independent workman. Pia probably knew that it was needful to spur him on to constant industry; he would have preferred to marry her on the spot, and then commence a scrambling life from hand to mouth. As, to defend herself from the accusation of pride, she had confessed to the priest her engagement to Maino, and this unexpected news made a great stir everywhere, the lad thought he need hold aloof no longer, but on every holiday, and as often as he passed the cottage on work-days, paid a visit to his beloved, who never allowed him to cross the threshold. On pleasant evenings they could often be seen seated outside the door on a little bench, with the child Margheritina playing at their feet, till she at last fell asleep with her arms around the neck of the dog Brusco. Then, for the first time, Maino ventured to lavish a few innocent caresses on his beautiful but coy betrothed. In spite of his passionate nature, the reverence he cherished for her as a superior being kept him within certain limits. "O Pia!" he often said, "I know I am not good enough for you, and if I could believe that any mortal man would love you better or more faithfully, I would hang myself on the first tree, and let you be as happy as you deserve! But have patience. Great things are happening in the world every day, real miracles; and, as the nameless Corsican became a great emperor, and the master of the whole world-to be sure his splendor came to a miserable end because he loved himself more than the people-so the poor peasantlad Maino may some day be a great man, and lead you to his house like a princess." Pia smiled incredulously at such words, and tried to persuade her lover out of his fancies, but something that did not seem very unlike a miracle actually occurred, and suddenly brought the goal of their wishes, which appeared to be a long way off, close at hand. One fine day, long before evening, Maino appeared in the village with a radiant face. Against Pia's wishes, he had not neglected to leave a little door open to luck, and often took chances in the lottery. Now, an almost unprecedented thing had happened—the four numbers he selected came out together. The blessed prize brought a large sum of money into the house, enough for him to establish himself in business and wed a girl whom the emperor had kissed. His betrothed consented to become his without resistance. It was not so much the money that won her consent to the hasty marriage as the fact that the goddess of luck had sent it into the house. She looked at Maino with different eyes, as a favorite of higher powers, and, though too sensible to suppose that he had so brilliant a career before him as that of the Corsican lieutenant, saw him in imagination invested with all sorts of honors and dignities as the first man in the village, or perhaps even podestà of one of the neighboring cities, if Fortune remained faithful to him. Besides, she was now two-and-twenty, loved the bold youth with all her heart, and longed to become his wife. There were to be grand doings at the wedding the happy bridegroom was resolved upon that. Everybody who was even distantly connected with the sisters, and that was half the village, was invited to the tavern; musicians were ordered from Alessandria, and a generous cask of the best wine provided, while it need hardly be stated that Maino dressed his bride and the child Margheritina from head to foot in the handsomest clothes that could be procured. Even the little dog Brusco received a wedding collar of red velvet, with a little silver bell, and, since luck had befriended him, Maino never visited his betrothed without taking the latter a bouquet of flowers and the dog a sausage. When, on the second week after the piece of good fortune, the wedding-day arrived, the bridegroom appeared on horseback with four or five of his friends, also well mounted, as the village of San Giuliano Vecchio, where they all worked, was at some distance from Spinetta, on the road to Tortona, and wedding-guests must not appear with dusty shoes and clothes. The bride, surrounded by her bridesmaids, herself the fairest and most queenly of all, received him with such a radiant smile that the worthy lad felt as if the heavens had opened, and had great difficulty in controlling himself sufficiently not to make the most extravagant leaps of joy. He swung himself from his horse like a feather, took his betrothed by the hand, and, with the utmost dignity, as the ancient village custom required, led her toward the church. From time immemorial it had always been a necessary part of every wedding in Spinetta for the bridegroom's friends, while on the way to church and back to the inn, to discharge small cannon, guns, and pistols, in short every thing that would make a noise. But, since Carl Felix had exerted undisputed sway, as the fear of secret designs on the part of the banditti was not wholly removed, no peasant was allowed to have a gun, let alone fire one. The royal gendarmes, who were stationed everywhere among the villages, had strict orders to see that the command was not evaded, and even the joyous firing at weddings had ceased since the year '21. Hitherto the merry village lads, to whom noise is the principal feature at every feast, had sullenly yielded, gnashing their teeth; but Maino was not inclined to let his wedding-day pass without this warlike music. He thought he owed it to his bride, whose father had fallen as a brave soldier, and, although as much powder could not be burned as at the coronation of the great soldier emperor, or on the occasion of his marriage with Maria Theresa, the wedding-day of one who had drawn a prize in the lottery must not be permitted to pass like that of any ordinary peasant-lad. Therefore, when the procession was about half-way to the church, Maino's friends, amid loud shouts and evvivas, began to discharge their guns, and the bridegroom himself, as soon as he heard the sound, drew from his belt a pair of old but beautifully-ornamented pistols, and, in spite of Pia's earnest entreaties, fired them into the air. Under ordinary circumstances, this infringement of the law would probably have received no harsher punishment than a heavy fine, or perhaps only a sharp admonition to the culprit. But, unfortunately, one of the two gendarmes stationed in Spinetta had. himself been a lover of the bride, and, on account of his handsome person, cherished high hopes of success. He therefore felt it as a personal insult, if not an offense to his official dignity, when a marriage now took place between the beautiful Pia and this ordinary mason's apprentice. He had gone about for days before the wedding brooding over plans of vengeance, informed his comrades in the villages of Pardi and Mandrogne that they must come to Spinetta on the marriage-day, as trouble might easily arise, and, if the wine once mounted to the peasants' heads, they two would not be able to prevent mischief. When the harmless firing began to echo on the air, the six well-armed gendarmes suddenly appeared in the street, demanded the delivery of the weapons, and the bridegroom's rival-who bore the nickname of Barbone-triumphantly approached Maino, to arrest him as the instigator of the whole tumult. Whether the young men, on the way to Spinetta, had been discussing the bold deeds of former days, or whether indignation at this piece of intentional malice went to their brains, would be difficult to decide; suffice it to say that they openly resisted the soldiers, and Maino, almost beside himself at this humiliation in the presence of his betrothed bride, answered Barbone with such cutting contempt that all the villagers burst into shouts of laughter. Infuriated by this treatment, Barbone forgot all consideration, and seized his enemy by the collar to drag him to prison with his own hands. The next instant the glitter of Maino's knife vied with his flashing eyes. A struggle ensued, the women and children shrieked, the men fought savagely. Barbone's comrades were engaged in a fierce battle with Maino's friends, and not until the priest, who had heard the noise of the conflict in the church, appeared on the threshold in his robes, and raised a warning voice, did a sudden stillness ensue. ple now saw with terror that Barbone and two of his comrades lay bleeding on the ground, while Maino's wedding - garments were sprinkled with blood and large drops were oozing through a cut in his velvet sleeve. The peo A gloomy pause followed the wild tumult. The priest hurriedly approached, and no one knew what would be the end of the rudelyinterrupted festival. Maino was the first to regain his composure. Casting one glance of mortal hatred at Barbone, who lay groaning on the ground, he whispered into the ear of his motionless bride a few words that nobody understood, clasped her in a passionate embrace, kissed her pale lips, then made a sign to his comrades and vanished in the crowd just as the pastor came up, panting for breath, and loudly uttering the bridegroom's name, to ask him for an explanation of the affair. The shots he had just heard, and the sight of the groaning guardians of the law, taught him enough, and he had scarcely sent for a doctor and asked the wounded men how they felt, when news arrived that the bridegroom and his friends had mounted their horses and dashed away like the wind, probably to the forest-clad hills near Tortona, unless the fugitives had selected this road to mislead their pursuers. In that case they would probably seek refuge in the mountains near Novi. Such was the sorrowful end of the wedding. The bridegroom had fled to the forest -an outcast, a bandit; the bride could do nothing but return to her lonely home, and resume the old solitary, toilsome life with her little sister. But, after the first terror, the beautiful and sensible girl did not seem to find it difficult to make this resolution. She avoided all tokens of pity, took Margheritina by the hand, and turned into the path leading to her deserted house, where that very same day she was seen working quietly in her every-day clothes. She told the priest, who visited her toward evening to inquire into the state of her mind, that she was very sorry for this terrible affray, but trusted in her own and Maino's lucky star. They were both undoubtedly destined for some great and unusual fortune, only they must not allow themselves to grow weary of waiting. It was evident that her betrothed husband had become dearer to her than ever, since he had so boldly defended himself against insolent force. On this point she would not allow even the priest to teach her better ideas. "Even the Emperor Napoleon," she said, "would not have reached such a height, if he had allowed himself to be taken to task by every gendarme." The priest saw with regret that a sort of imperial monomania had taken possession of the quiet girl's head, and resolved to make every effort to uproot it. But of course this could not be done at once. It was soon known in the village that Maino and his friends had really been seen near Novi. The wounds inflicted on Barbone and his comrades were trifling, it is true, but the government and police could not afford to pass over the matter lightly at a time when the smothered fires of the Carbonari still gleamed under the ashes, and threatened to blaze up brightly at the first gust of wind. Therefore the escaped peace-breaker and his comrades were hotly pursued, after the manner of all police-hunts, which invariably allow the game plenty of time to escape, as if to prolong the pleasure of the chase. In this way the authorities transformed the poor fellows, who at first had only entered upon the profession of robbery as amateurs, into accomplished virtuosi, who at last made a virtue of necessity, and would not on any account have exchanged the new, free life for the old one of toilsome labor. Pia heard all these things and seemed to consider them a matter of course, and by no means disgraceful or desperate. All praised her Maino for carrying on the trade of a bandit in a very high-spirited manner, sparing the poor or even helping them, attacking only the great and powerful, and never staining his name by murder or malicious cruelty. The village of Spinetta, in which he had formerly enjoyed no special distinction, now began to speak of its famous son with respect and admiration. Those who met him in the mountains could not say enough of his handsome and stately appearance, or the chivalrous manner in which he treated his -country-people. Barbone, on the contrary, who, after lying in the hospital a few weeks, was once more ready for service, though he limped about on a crutch, was avoided by everybody, and, in spite of his official dignity, met wry faces and angry glances wherever he turned his eyes. Summer which the bridegroom, who seemed to have He approached the table and counted out a dozen shining gold-pieces, but the priest saw that his gait was somewhat unsteady and his hands trembled. He had evidently been drinking heavily, and the slightest opposition to his will might transform his careless goodnature into a fit of violent passion. Several months had passed. was drawing to a close; the lovely Pia doubt-galantuomo, Signore Pastore," he concluded, less often thought, with many a secret sigh, laughing so joyously that his white teeth what would become of the hunted peasants glittered in the firelight, "a galantuomo finds during the rude winter among the moun- his country wherever there are galantuomini, tains, and her confidence in Maino's lucky and in our envied Piedmont these are rare star began to waver. One evening, when the as figs on a church-roof. I intend to settle moon was just rising over the roof of the with my wife in France or Spain, where a little church, the pastor of Spinetta sat in man is taken at his proper value. The best his kitchen at a little table close beside the dish loses its taste when it is burned, and my hearth, where he was in the habit of taking enemies here have caused a smoke and smell his meals; the old maid-servant had brought that hurt the eyes. But I ask nothing gratis, in the dish of polenta and plate of bread and your reverence, and here is the wedding-fee." olives, and was just going into the cellar to get a bottle of the red wine of the country, when the door was gently opened, and, with a "Good-evening, Signore Pastore," a man attired in a singular costume crossed the threshold. He really resembled one of the fantastic brigands who are usually not to be found in Italy except on the stage, when the opera of "Fra Diavolo" is performed. Over one shoulder was flung an excellent English double-barreled gun, and two handsome silver-mounted pistols were thrust into the red sash that girded his waist. His face and hands were clean, and his close-curling hair was scented with perfumed oil. The priest, notwithstanding he had instantly recognized the famous hero of Spinetta, was very much startled, and gazed at the apparition in silence, while the old maid-servant fled shrieking from the room. But Maino, nodding familiarly, approached, removed his broadbrimmed hat with its floating plume, and begged his reverence to have no fear; he had no evil designs, and would not intrude upon him after the object of his visit was accomplished, namely, that the wedding ceremonies which had been so rudely disturbed should now be duly performed. With these words he motioned toward the door, and Pia timidly entered, clad in the same bridal garments she had worn before, only it was evident that she had had little time to arrange them. Behind her appeared a motley throng of dark figures with glittering weapons, and the whole population of Spinetta seemed to have assembled before the house, waiting in breathless suspense to see what would happen next. The priest, though a much braver man than his famous colleague, Don Abbondio, perceived that no refusal was possible, and as all the usual preliminaries had been arranged before the first wedding-day, he could have no conscientious scruples about blessing this marriage. But he took the liberty of asking the question whether Maino was quite sure the wedding would not again be disturbed by the interference of the temporal powers; to The priest therefore instantly gathered up the princely fee, and declared himself ready to precede the young couple to the church. Meantime the twilight had deepened into night, but the road between the parsonage and the church was brightly lighted by a number of torches brought by Maino's companions, as well as by lamps and candles, with which all the inhabitants of the village had illuminated their little windows. The peasants of Spinetta had also probably emptied more than one glass at the expense of their famous fellow-citizen; at any rate, they were all in a merry mood, and received the priest and betrothed couple with loud cheers, accompanied by the firing of pistols, which now had a malicious sound, as the enemies of this harmless festal music could not fail to hear it in their gloomy dungeon. After the priest and bridal pair reached the altar, there was another short delay. The bridegroom insisted that, besides the two candles already lighted, all the chandeliers should be filled with wax-lights and the church illuminated as on the occasion of the greatest festivals. The money for this expenditure he tossed into the baptismal font, and commanded the organ to be played. Meantime the poor little church was bathed in fairy-like splendor, and, when all was ready, and the stately youth led his beautiful bride to the altar, an exclamation of admiration ran from lip to lip, and each lad, in spite of the ban of outlawry, would gladly have changed places with the bridegroom, each maiden with the happy bride. But the priest the only one in the throng who did not feel perfectly at ease in regard to the affair-hurriedly performed the ceremony, and, when the pair had gained their object, and were irrevocably united, hastily waved his hand and attempted to retire into the vestry. But Maino courteously stepped before him and said, still in a strange voice, like a man excited by wine: "Your reverence, we are now married, in spite of Signore Barbone, but you must do us another favor." "I don't understand you, my son," replied the priest, who with difficulty concealed his consternation at this new demand. "I have sworn a solemn oath, by the seven wounds of our blessed Saviour, that I will not leave this church until I and my beloved wife, Signora Pia Maino, have been crowned Emperor and Empress of Spinetta! You must know, your reverence, that my wife is the crown and pearl of women, was recognized as such in her childhood by the greatest man of the century and all time, who kissed her on the forehead, because he wished to declare her his peer and her brow worthy to wear a crown. Therefore I beg you, your reverence, as you are already present, to perform the coronation ceremony. As for the cost-" He again thrust his hand into his pocket, to draw out his purse. "You are jesting, my son," said the priest, trying to smile. "Who am I, to bestow worldly honors, if you and your young wife were ever so worthy of them? Besides, with what could I crown and anoint you? This poor house of God—” "These are only excuses, begging your pardon, your reverence. You have no inclination to perform this sacred task, and do not think us worthy of the coronation. But I know what I'm talking about, and will count myself of no more value than a hair of Barbone's head, if I go away from this church uncrowned! So make no more delay. There's plenty of oil in the lamp that burns before the Virgin's altar; and as for the crowns-" His eyes wandered over the walls on each side of the altar, then he walked quietly to a couple of figures of saints the size of life, which stood on small pedestals, and wore ancient, dusty crowns of gilt tin. He removed these, blew off the dust, polished the gilding with the sleeve of his velvet jacket, and then carried the two crowns carefully back to the altar, and laid them on the altar-cloth. "There," said he. "These will do for the present. And now go to work.” "Maino!" exclaimed the young wife, with an expression of the utmost horror, "what have you done? The saints in heaven-" She did not finish the sentence. A look from her husband had silenced her. But the priest did not allow himself to be intimidated by these imperious eyes. “I solemnly protest against such sacrilege," he exclaimed, in so stern a tone that even Maino's wild comrades shrank back. "Do you know, blinded youth, that you defy God's anger when you seize upon the ornaments of the church, the crowns of the saints, to serve your worldly pride? Depart, and pray to the Holy Virgin to forgive you this blasphemous deed, and intercede with the Lord of heaven! I wash my hands in innocence. I have nothing to do with this profanation of the saints." With these words he turned away, and, before any one could detain him, disappeared in the vestry. |