“Va via, va via⁠— Vel chieco per pietà.”

Then all at once, while the orchestra blared, they fell into each other’s arms.

“Why do they do that?” murmured Aunt Wess’ perplexed. “I thought the gentleman with the beard didn’t like her at all.”

“Why, that’s the duke, don’t you see, Aunt Wess’?” said Laura trying to explain. “And he forgives her. I don’t know exactly. Look at your libretto.”

“⁠—a conspiracy of the Bears⁠ ⁠… seventy cents⁠ ⁠… and naturally he busted.”

The mezzo-soprano, the confidante of the prima donna, entered, and a trio developed that had but a mediocre success. At the end the baritone abruptly drew his sword, and the prima donna fell to her knees, chanting: