The notes fell from his lips like a shower of brilliant stars; his bosom heaved, his eyes sparkled, and his rich tenor voice filling the hall produced an indescribable effect upon the auditors.

As his song proceeded, it seemed to gain in expression and vigor, and as he repeated the refrain _Mia bella Italia!_ for the last time, his compatriots were so carried away by their enthusiasm that, forgetful of decorum, all, even the most aged, waved their caps, exclaiming: "_Italia! Italia!_" Tears stood in the eyes of many.
Geronimo was complimented by all present.

His uncle called him his beloved son, Mary spoke to him in the most flattering manner, and Mr.Van de Werve shook hands with him cordially.
As to Simon Turchi, he was overpowered; all he had just seen and heard was such a martyrdom; jealousy so gnawed his heart that he sank deeper and deeper into the abyss of hatred and vengeance.

He stood a few steps from Geronimo, his eyes downcast, and trembling with emotion.
No one noticed him.

Had he attracted attention, his friends would have supposed that, like the other Italians, he had been moved by the chant of his compatriot.
Turchi soon roused himself.