What joy! what salutations! so that all the
passersby smiled with approval on the amiable scene.
Spiridione's brother was now station-master at Bologna, and
thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over
Italy at the public expense. Hearing of Gino's marriage, he
had come to see him on his way to Siena, where lived his own
uncle, lately monied too.
"They all do it," he exclaimed, "myself excepted." He
was not quite twenty-three. "But tell me more. She is
English. That is good, very good. An English wife is very
good indeed. And she is rich?"
"Immensely rich."
"Blonde or dark?"
"Blonde."
"Is it possible!"
"It pleases me very much," said Gino simply. "If you
remember, I always desired a blonde." Three or four men had
collected, and were listening.
"We all desire one," said Spiridione. "But you, Gino,
deserve your good fortune, for you are a good son, a brave
man, and a true friend, and from the very first moment I saw
you I wished you well."
"No compliments, I beg," said Gino, standing with his
hands crossed on his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face.
Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had
ever seen before. "Is it not true? Does not he deserve
this wealthy blonde?"
"He does deserve her," said all the men.
It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it.
There were no letters, and of course they sat down at
the Caffe Garibaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good
caffe that for so small a city.
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