who implores him as a father! How can he refuse to grant his niece to Antonio Scacciati the painter, whose glory already equals his genius!"
The most intense emotion made the whole of Capuzzi's frame palpitate: a violent combat was taking place in his soul. Finally, tenderness triumphed over anger. He opened his arms to Antonio and his niece, who fell at his feet. When they rose again, there was no longer before them either Pasquareilo, or Formica; the actor, who had filled this part with unanimous applause, had thrown off his mask and his disguise, henceforth useless.
"What, Salvator! It was you!" exclaimed at once Capuzzi, Antonio and Marianna.
"Yes, my friends," said the great artist, "yes, it was I who played this part for your happiness! It was I; for a year, the Romans, who despised my pictures and my poetry, covered me every evening with frenzied applause at the theatre of the People's Gate, without suspecting that, under the mask of poor Formica, was hidden the despised artist, whose vengeance punished their foibles. But I forgive the Romans, on your account!"
"Master Salvator," said Capuzzi, "all the Romans were not unjust towards you; for I, I have always admired your genius, although until now detesting your person. Obtain, then, for me from your friend Antonio, the permission to end my days under the same roof with my dear Marianna. I do not believe that he can ever be jealous of me, even should he sometimes see me adventure a kiss on the pretty little hand of my niece. An uncle is nearly a father, especially at my age; and we shall be, henceforth, the best friends in the world, if Antonio promises, besides this, to curl my gray moustache himself, every Sunday; it is a little deference which I require, and which, I hope, will not humiliate him."
A thousand kisses from the pretty Marianna immediately sealed this happy compact of a forgetfulness of the past.
