The father, not being apt at off-hand oratory, did not attempt any response to this speech, but merely bowed, to express his perfect agreement in everything that had been said, and waved his hand toward a table in the rear of the stage, as if to say, “Let us proceed to business.”

The notary, taking the hint, seated himself at the table, opened his black bag, drew forth a document from it, and spread it out.  Then he dipped a pen into an inkstand, and said: 

“We now await the signing of the contract of marriage between Signor Alessandro Arturo Rodicaso, gentleman, and Signorina Giulia Innocenza Fidelia Corpetto, only daughter of Signor Francesco Corpetto, merchant.”

In the absence of any definite information on the Venetian formula adopted in such cases, the author had selected this style of announcement as being sufficiently stiff and imposing.

Signor Rodicaso sprang forward with joyful alacrity to sign the contract, dashing off his name in two strokes, as is the invariable custom on the stage.

The climax of the drama had now arrived, and everybody stood aside for the wretched Fidelia.  Mrs. Slapman proved equal to the great occasion.  Directing one look to heaven, as if for strength, and pressing a hand over the jewelled bodice which covered her bursting heart, she walked with firm steps toward the fatal table.  Never in her life had she been more grandly simple.  It was sublime!

As Fidelia came up to the little table, she faltered, and leaned upon it to support herself; then, with a nervous motion, grasped the pen.  Several times she dipped the pen in the empty inkstand, and each time her face assumed a look of more settled anguish.  Then, bracing all her nerves for the decisive act of woman’s life, she put down the pen boldly on the paper, and made one up stroke.  Before she could make the other down stroke which was necessary to complete her signature, a wild figure, with hair dishevelled, and other evidences of hasty purpose, burst upon the stage.

Fidelia paused; all stood back; and gentlemen who had swords laid hands on them.

“Who is this?” asked the Father, with mercantile calmness.

“Who dares thus break in upon my happiness?” inquired Signor Rodicaso.

“Know you not, young man, that you are committing a breach of the peace?” remarked the notary, regarding the intrusion with the eye of a lawyer.

The wild figure answered them all at once:  “I am Alberto, and I come to rend this impious contract—­thus—­thus—­thus!” (snatching the parchment from the table, tearing it to pieces, and trampling on it).

Fidelia, astonished at the turn events were taking, leaned back in her chair, and looked on silently.  Her time for fainting had not yet come.

“Draw and defend yourself, caitiff!” exclaimed Signor Rodicaso, brandishing his sword.

“Anywhere but in the presence of a lady,” was the sarcastic reply.  “Besides, I have claims on you, which, perhaps may teach you to respect me.”