It was in Nello's shop that Piero di Cosimo was speaking, on the twenty-fourth of NovemPiero accepted it very much as that proverb-ber, just a week after the entrance of the French. ial bear that dreams of pears might accept an exceedingly mellow "swan-egg"-really liking the gift, but accustomed to have his pleasures and pains concealed under a shaggy coat.

born with an antipathy to old prisoners who stumble and clutch. Ecco!"

to thy own eggs! Suffocation! What is it against my bel erudito that he looked startled when he felt a pair of claws upon him and saw There was a general laugh at Nello's defense, an unchained madman at his elbow? Your and it was clear that Piero's disinclination toscholar is not like those beastly Swiss and Ger- ward Tito was not shared by the company. The mans whose heads are fit for nothing but bat-painter, with his undecipherable grimace, took tering-rams, and who have such large appetites the tow from his scarsella and stuffed his ears, that they think nothing of taking a cannon-ball as a sign of indignant contempt, while Nello before breakfast. We Florentines count some went on triumphantly: other qualities in a man besides that vulgar stuff called bravery, which is to be got by hiring dunderheads at so much per dozen. I tell you, as soon as men found out they had more brains than oxen they set the oxen to draw for them; and when we Florentines found out that we had more brains than other men we set them to fight for us."

"Treason, Nello!" a voice called out from the inner sanctum; "that is not the doctrine of the State. Florence is grinding its weapons; and the last well-authenticated vision announced by the Frate was Mars standing on the Palazzo Vecchio with his arm on the shoulder of San Giovanni Battista, who was offering him a piece of honey-comb."

"It is well, Francesco," said Nello. "Florence has a few thicker skulls that may do to bombard Pisa with; there will still be the finer spirits left at home to do the thinking and the shaving. And as for our Piero here, if he makes such a point of valor, let him carry his biggest brush for a weapon and his pallet for a shield, and challenge the widest-mouthed Swiss he can see in the Prate to a single combat."

"Va, Nello," growled Piero, "thy tongue runs on as usual, like a mill when the Arno's full-whether there's grist or not."

"Excellent grist, I tell thee.

For it would be as reasonable to expect a grizzled painter like thee to be fond of getting a javelin inside thee as to expect a man whose wits have been sharpened on the classics to like having his handsome face clawed by a wild beast."

"There you go, supposing you'll get people to put their legs into a sack because you call it a pair of hosen," said Piero. "Who said any thing about a wild beast, or about an unarmed man rushing on battle? Fighting is a trade, and it's not my trade. I should be a fool to run after danger, but I could face it if it came to me."

"How is it you're so afraid of the thunder then, my Piero?" said Nello, determined to chase down the accuser. "You ought to be able to understand why one man is shaken by a thing that seems a trifle to others--you who hide yourself with the rats as soon as a storm comes on."

"That is because I have a particular sensibility to loud sounds; it has nothing to do with my courage or my conscience.”

"Well, and Tito Melema may have a peculiar sensibility to being laid hold of unexpectedly by prisoners who have run away from French soldiers. Men are born with antipathies; I myself can't abide the smell of mint. Tito was

"No, my Piero, I can't afford to have my bel erudito decried; and Florence can't afford it either, with her scholars moulting off her at the early age of forty. Our Phoenix Pico just gone straight to Paradise, as the Frate has informed us; and the incomparable Poliziano, not two months since, gone to Well, well, let us hope he is not gone to the eminent scholars in the Malebolge."

"By-the-way," said Francesco Cei, "have you heard that Camilla Rucellai has outdone the Frate in her prophecies ? She prophesied two years ago that Pico would die in the time of lilies. He has died in November. 'Not at all the time of lilies,' said the scorners. 'Go to!' says Camilla; it is the lilies of France I meant, and it seems to me they are close enough under your nostrils.' I say, 'Euge, Camilla!' If the Frate can prove that any one of his visions has been as well fulfilled, I'll declare myself a piagnone to-morrow."

"You are something too flippant about the Frate, Francesco," said Pietro Cennini, the scholarly. "We are all indebted to him in these weeks for preaching peace and quietness, and the laying aside of party quarrels. They are men of small discernment who would be glad to see the people slipping the Frate's leash just now. And if the Most Christian King is obstinate about the treaty to-day, and will not sign what is fair and honorable to Florence, Fra Girolamo is the man we must trust in to bring him to reason.'

"You speak truth, Messer Pietro," said Nello, "the Frate is one of the firmest nails Florence has to hang on—at least, that is the opinion of the most respectable chins I have the honor of shaving. But young Messer Niccolò was saying here the other morning-and, doubtless, Francesco means the same thing-there is as wonderful a power of stretching in the meaning of visions as in Dido's bull's hide. A dream may mean whatever comes after it, mi pare. As our Franco Sacchetti says, a woman dreams overnight of a serpent biting her, breaks a drinkingcup the next day, and cries out, 'Look you, I thought something would happen-it's plain now what the serpent meant.

"But the Frate's visions are not of that sort," said Cronaca. "He not only says what will happen--that the Church will be scourged and renovated, and the heathens converted-he says it shall happen quickly. He is no slippery pretender who provides loopholes for himself, he is—”

"What is this? what is this?" exclaimed Nello, jumping off the desco, and putting his

head out at the door. "Here are people stream- | of you, citizens of Florence, that you have a ing into the piazza, and shouting. Something fellow-citizen who knows how to speak your must have happened in the Via Larga. Aha!" will."

he burst forth with delighted astonishment, stepping out, laughing, and waving his cap.

As the shouts rose again, Tito looked round with inward amusement at the various crowd, each of whom was elated with the notion that Piero Capponi had somehow represented him— that he was the mind of which Capponi was the

All the rest of the company hastened to the door. News from the Via Larga was just what they had been waiting for. But if the news had come into the piazza, they were not a little sur-mouth-piece. prised at the form of its advent. Carried above the shoulders of the people, on a bench apparently snatched up in the street, sat Tito Melema, in smiling amusement at the compulsion he was under. His cap had slipped off his head, and hung by the becchetto which was wound loosely round his neck; and as he saw the group at Nello's door he lifted up his fingers in beckoning recognition. The next minute he had leaped from the bench on to a cart filled with bales that stood in the broad space between the Baptistery and the steps of the Duomo, while the people swarmed round him with the noisy eagerness of poultry expecting to be fed. But there was silence when he began to speak in his clear mellow voice

He enjoyed the humor of the incident, which had suddenly transformed him, an alien and a friend of the Medici, into an orator who tickled the ears of the people blatant for some unknown good which they called liberty. He felt quite glad that he had been laid hold of and hurried along by the crowd as he was coming out of the palace in the Via Larga with a commission to the Signoria. It was very easy, very pleasant, this exercise of speaking to the general satisfaction: a man who knew how to persuade need never be in danger from any party; he could convince each that he was feigning with all the others. The gestures and faces of weavers and dyers were certainly amusing when looked at from above in this way. Tito was beginning to get easier in his armor, and at this moment was quite unconscious of it. He stood with one hand holding his recovered cap, and with the other at his belt, the light of 'a complacent smile in his long lustrous eyes, as he made a parting reverence to his audience, before springing down from the bales-when suddenly his glance met that of a man who had not at all the amusing aspect of the exulting weavers, dyers, and wool-carders. The face of this man was clean shaven, his hair close-clipped, and he wore a decent felt hat. A single glance would hardly have sufficed to assure any one but Tito that this was the face of the escaped prisoner When the roar of insistence had subsided a who had laid hold of him on the steps. But to little, Tito began again : Tito it came not simply as the face of the escaped prisoner, but as a face with which he had been familiar long, long years before.

"Citizens of Florence! I have no warrant to tell the news except your will. But the news is good, and will harm no man in the telling. The Most Christian King is signing a treaty that is honorable to Florence. But you owe it to one of your citizens, who spoke a word worthy of the ancient Romans—you owe it to Piero Capponi!"

Immediately there was a roar of voices. "Capponi! Capponi! What said our Piero?" "Ah! he wouldn't stand being sent from Herod to Pilate!" "We knew Piero!" "Orsù! Tell us what did he say ?"

"The Most Christian King demanded a little too much was obstinate-said at last, 'I shall order my trumpets to sound.' Then Florentine citizens! your Piero Capponi, speaking with the voice of a free city, said, 'If you sound your trumpets, we will ring our bells!' He snatched the copy of the dishonoring conditions from the hands of the secretary, tore it in pieces, and turned to leave the royal presence."

It seemed all compressed into a second-the sight of Baldassarre looking at him, the sensation shooting through him like a fiery arrow, and the act of leaping from the cart. He would have leaped down in the same instant, whether he had seen Baldassarre or not, for he was in a hurry to be gone to the Palazzo Vecchio: this Again there were loud shouts-and again im- time he had not betrayed himself by look or patient demands for more.

"Then, Florentines, the high majesty of France felt, perhaps for the first time, all the majesty of a free city. And the Most Christian King himself hastened from his place to call Piero Capponi back. The great spirit of your Florentine city did its work by a great word, without need of the great actions that lay ready behind it. And the King has consented to sign the treaty, which preserves the honor, as well as the safety, of Florence. The banner of France will float over every Florentine galley in sign of amity and common privilege, but above that banner will be written the word 'Liberty!'

"That is all the news I have to tell; is it not enough?-since it is for the glory of every one

movement, and he said inwardly that he should not be taken by surprise again; he should be prepared to see this face rise up continually like the intermittent blotch that comes in diseased vision. But this reappearance of Baldassarre so much more in his own likeness tightened the pressure of dread: the idea of his madness lost its likelihood now he was shaven and clad like a decent though poor citizen. Certainly, there was a great change in his face; but how could it be otherwise? And yet, if he were perfectly sane-in possession of all his powers and all his learning-why was he lingering in this way before making known his identity? It must be for the sake of making his scheme of vengeance more complete. But he did linger: that at

least gave an opportunity for flight. And Tito began to think that flight was his only resource. But while he, with his back turned on the Piazza del Duomo, had lost the recollection of the new part he had been playing, and was no longer thinking of the many things which a ready brain and tongue made easy, but of a few things which destiny had somehow made very difficult, the enthusiasm which he had fed contemptuously was creating a scene in that piazza in grand contrast with the inward drama of self-centred fear which he had carried away from it.

ence.

round his neck-in the same spot where he had
been called a madman. The feeling, in its fresh-
ness, was too strong to be overcome by any trust
he had in the change he had made in his ap-
pearance; for when the words " some madman,
surely," had fallen from Tito's lips, it was not
their baseness and cruelty only that had made
their viper sting-it was Baldassarre's instan-
taneous bitter consciousness that he might be
unable to prove the words false. Along with
the passionate desire for vengeance that pos-
sessed him had arisen the keen sense that his
power of achieving the vengeance was doubtful.
It was as if Tito had been helped by some dia-
bolical prompter, who had whispered Baldas-
sarre's saddest secret in the traitor's ear.
was not mad; for he carried within him that
piteous stamp of sanity-the clear consciousness
of shattered faculties: he measured his own fee-
bleness. With the first movements of vindic-
tive rage awoke a vague caution, like that of a
wild beast that is fierce but feeble-or like that
of an insect whose little fragment of earth has
given way, and made it pause in a palsy of dis-
trust. It was this distrust, this determination
to take no step which might betray any thing
concerning himself, that had made Baldassarre
reject Piero di Cosimo's friendly advances.

He

The crowd, on Tito's disappearance, had begun to turn their faces toward the outlets of the piazza in the direction of the Via Larga, when the sight of Mazzieri, or mace-bearers, entering from the Via de' Martelli, announced the approach of dignitaries. They must be the syndics, or commissioners, charged with the effecting of the treaty; the treaty must be already signed, and they had come away from the royal presPiero Capponi was coming-the brave heart that had known how to speak for Florence. The effect on the crowd was remarkable; they parted with softening, dropping voices, subsiding into silence and the silence became so perfect that the tread of the syndics on the broad pavement, and the rustle of their black silk garments, could be heard, like rain in the night. There He had been equally cautious at the hospital, were four of them; but it was not the two learned only telling, in answer to the questions of the doctors of law, Messer Guidantonio Vespucci brethren there, that he had been made a prisand Messer Domenico Bonsi, that the crowd oner by the French on his way from Genoa. But waited for; it was not Francesco Valori, popu- his age, and the indications in his speech and lar as he had become in these late days. The manner that he was of a different class from the moment belonged to another man, of firm pres- ordinary mendicants and poor travelers who were ence, as little inclined to humor the people as to entertained in the hospital, had induced the humor any other unreasonable claimants-loving monks to offer him extra charity—a coarse order, like one who by force of fortune had been woolen tunic to protect him from the cold, a made a merchant, and by force of nature had pair of peasant's shoes, and a few danari, smallbecome a soldier. It was not till he was seen est of Florentine coins, to help him on his way. at the entrance of the piazza that the silence was He had gone on the road to Arezzo early in the broken, and then one loud shout of "Capponi, morning; but he had paused at the first little Capponi! Well done, Capponi!” rang through town, and had used a couple of his danari to the piazza. get himself shaved and to have his circle of hair clipped short, in his former fashion. The barber there had a little hand-mirror of bright steel: it was a long while, it was years, since Baldassarre had looked at himself; and now, as his eyes fell on that hand-mirror, a new thought shot through his mind. "Was he so changed that Tito really did not know him?" The thought was such a sudden arrest of impetuous currents that it was a painful shock to him: his hand shook like a leaf as he put away the barber's arm and asked for the mirror. He wished to see himself before he was shaved. The barber, noticing his tremulousness, held the mirror for him.

The simple, resolute man looked round him with grave joy. His fellow-citizens gave him a great funeral two years later, when he had died in fight: there were torches carried by all the magistracy, and torches again, and trains of banners. But it is not known that he felt any joy in the oration that was delivered in his praise, as the banners waved over his bier. Let us be glad that he got some thanks and praise while he lived.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE AVENGER'S SECRET.

It was the first time that Baldassarre had been in the Piazza del Duomo since his escape. He had a strong desire to hear the remarkable monk preach again, but he had shrunk from reappearing in the same spot where he had been seen half naked, with neglected hair, with a rope

No; he was not so changed as that. He himself had known the wrinkles as they had been three years ago; they were only deeper now: there was the same rough, clumsy skin, making little superficial bosses on the brow, like so many cipher marks; the skin was only yellower, only looked more like a lifeless rind. That shaggy white beard-it was no disguise to eyes that had looked closely at him for sixteen years-to eyes

that ought to have searched for him with the ex-ergy of his will; he had recovered the memory pectation of finding him changed, as men search of all that part of his life which was closely infor the beloved among the bodies cast up by the wrought with his emotions; and he had felt more waters. There was something different in his and more constantly and painfully the uneasy glance, but it was a difference that should only sense of lost knowledge. But more than thathave made the recognition of him the more start- once or twice, when he had been strongly excited, ling; for is not a known voice all the more thrill- he had seemed momentarily to be in entire posing when it is heard as a cry? But the doubt session of his past self, as old men doze for an was folly he had felt that Tito knew him. He instant and get back the consciousness of their .put out his hand and pushed the mirror away. youth: he seemed again to see Greek pages and The strong currents were rushing on again, and understand them, again to feel his mind moving the energies of hatred and vengeance were active unbenumbed among familiar ideas. It had been but a flash, and the darkness closing in again seemed the more horrible; but might not the same thing happen again for longer periods? If it would only come and stay long enough for him to achieve a revenge-devise an exquisite suffering, such as a mere right arm could never inflict!

once more.

He went back on the way toward Florence again, but he did not wish to enter the city till dusk; so he turned aside from the high-road, and sat down by a little pool shadowed on one side by alder-bushes still sprinkled with yellow leaves. It was a calm November day, and he no sooner saw the pool than he thought its still surface might be a mirror for him. He wanted to contemplate himself slowly, as he had not dared to do in the presence of the barber. He sat down on the edge of the pool, and bent forward to look earnestly at the image of himself. Was there something wandering and imbecile in his face-something like what he felt in his mind?

Not now; not when he was examining himself with a look of eager inquiry: on the contrary, there was an intense purpose in his eyes. But at other times? Yes, it must be so: in the long hours when he had the vague aching of an unremembered past within him-when he seemed to sit in dark loneliness, visited by whispers which died out mockingly as he strained his ear after them, and by forms that seemed to approach him and float away as he thrust out his hand to grasp them in those hours, doubtless, there must be continual frustration and amazement in his glance. And, more horrible still, when the thick cloud parted for a moment, and, as he sprang forward with hope, rolled together again and left him helpless as before, doubtless then there was a blank confusion in his face, as of a man suddenly smitten with blindness.

He raised himself from his stooping attitude, and, folding his arms, attempted to concentrate all his mental force on the plan he must immediately pursue. He had to wait for knowledge and opportunity, and while he waited he must have the means of living withont beggary. What he dreaded of all things now was, that any one should think him a foolish, helpless old man. No one must know that half his memory was gone: the lost strength might come again; and if it were only for a little while, that might be enough.

He knew how to begin to get the information he wanted about Tito. He had repeated the words Bratti Ferravecchj so constantly after they had been uttered to him that they never slipped from him for long together. A man at Genoa, on whose finger he had seen Tito's ring, had told him that he bought that ring at Florence, of a young Greek, well dressed, and with a handsome dark face, in the shop of a rigattiere called Bratti Ferravecchj, in the street also called Ferravecchj. This discovery had caused a violent agitation in Baldassarre. Until then he had clung with all the tenacity of his fervid nature to his faith in Tito, and had not for a moment believed himself to be willfully forsaken. At first he had said, Could he prove any thing? Could he even "My bit of parchment has never reached him; begin to allege any thing with the confidence that is why I am still toiling at Antioch. that the links of thought would not break away? he is searching: he knows where I was lost; he Would any believe that he had ever had a mind will trace me out, and find me at last." Then, filled with rare knowledge, busy with close when he was taken to Corinth, he induced his thoughts, ready with various speech? It had owners, by the assurance that he should be sought all slipped away from him-that laboriously-out and ransomed, to provide securely against gathered store. Was it utterly and forever gone from him, like the waters from an urn lost in the wide ocean? Or was it still within him, imprisoned by some obstruction that might one day break asunder ?.

But

the failure of any inquiries that might be made about him at Antioch; and at Corinth he thought joyfully, "Here, at last, he must find me. Here he is sure to touch, whichever way he goes." But before another year had passed the illness It might be so; he tried to keep his grasp on had come from which he had risen with body and that hope. For since the day when he had first mind so shattered that he was worse than worthwalked feebly from his couch of straw and had less to his owners except for the sake of the ranfelt a new darkness within him under the sun- som that did not come. Then, as he sat helplight, his mind had undergone changes, partly less in the morning sunlight, he began to think, gradual and persistent, partly sudden and fleet-"Tito has been drowned, or they have made ing. As he had recovered his strength of body him a prisoner too. I shall see him no more. he had recovered his self-command and the en- He set out after me, but misfortune overtook

H