and procuresses who are after all middlemen—and women—of the eternal lusts."
"All those twelve-dollar words add up to—anything goes, if you can get away with it," Lucy said.
"Don't tell me you are coming down with a case of false morality," Figente said acidly.
Vida observed with distaste the disintegrating face. "Let me tell you something," she said wrathfully, ignoring Lucy's signals, "when Lucy was a little girl in Denver, Horta was a Madam there and now, for some reason, your picaresque friend is afraid Lucy will expose her and so to keep her quiet she inveigled Lucy to a prostitutes' party telling her it was a surprise party for the Marqués."
"Do you mean she actually did that and once ran a house?"
"Yes," said Lucy.
Figente's belly shook, his head rolled from side to side and, clenching his fists like a colicky baby, laughed until tears streamed. Flapping his hands in a last paroxysm of enjoyment, his laughter subsided with sobbing gasps, as the girls wondered uneasily whether he might not laugh himself into a heart attack.
"What difference does it make?" he finally gasped. "Nino is gone. I hear he made a good deal with Piselli. Perhaps after all Piselli and Horta are the new aristocracy, and Nino is old regime like myself lost in this strange new world—'Suckers' as I believe they call us."
"I don't think Nino is lost at all," said Lucy. "He's kind and has just the old-fashioned manners I like in a man. And he knows what he's doing—and wants."
Figente raised his head and regarded her curiously.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
She could not bring herself to say it, but that was one thing about Figente, he was quick about putting two and two together.
"I can't think of anything I could wish more for you," he said. "I knew Nino wanted it, as I intimated to you."
He lay back into his pillows and observed her approvingly.
"I haven't said yes, yet," she said.
"You must," Figente commanded. "It's the only answer to make. When Father Kerry comes I will ask him about your instructions."
"Instructions! What do you mean?"
"If you marry Nino you will have to become Roman," Figente said.
"Roman? He's a Spaniard."
"My dear child, you are innocent beyond belief. The Church of
