แ bolts, the door opened, and Piero presented him- | loves, such as you know how to paint, shooting self in a red night-cap and a loose brown serge with roses at the points of their arrows-" tunic, with sleeves rolled up to the shoulder. 'Say no more!" said Piero. "I have Ovid He darted a look of surprise at Tito, but with-in the vulgar tongue. Find me the passage. I out further notice of him stretched out his hand love not to be choked with other men's thoughts. to take the basket from the child, re-entered the You may come in." house, and presently returning with the empty basket, said, "How much to pay ?" "Two grossoni, Messer Piero; they are all ready boiled, my mother says." Piero took the coin out of the leathern scarsella at his belt, and the little maiden trotted away, not without a few upward glances of awed admiration at the surprising young signor. Piero's glance was much less complimentary as he said, "What do you want at my door, Messer Greco? I saw you this morning at Nello's; if you had asked me then, I could have told you that I see no man in this house without knowing his business and agreeing with him beforehand." "Pardon, Messer Piero," said Tito, with his imperturbable good-humor; "I acted without sufficient reflection. I remembered nothing but your admirable skill in inventing pretty caprices, when a sudden desire for something of that sort prompted me to come to you." Piero led the way through the first room, where a basket of eggs was deposited on the open hearth, near a heap of broken egg-shells and a bank of ashes. In strange keeping with that sordid litter there was a low bedstead of carved ebony, covered carelessly with a piece of rich Oriental carpet, that looked as if it had served to cover the steps to a Madonna's throne; and a carved cassone, or large chest, with painted devices on its sides and lid. There was hardly any other furniture in the large room, except casts, wooden steps, easels, and rough boxes, all festooned with cobwebs. The next room was still larger, but it was also much more crowded. Apparently Piero was keeping the festa, for the double door underneath the window which admitted the painter's light from above was thrown open, and showed a garden, or rather thicket, in which figtrees and vines grew in tangled, trailing wildness among nettles and hemlocks, and a tall cypress lifted its dark head from a stifling mass The painter's manners were too notoriously of yellowing mulberry-leaves. It seemed as if odd to all the world for this reception to be held that dank luxuriance had begun to penetrate a special affront; but even if Tito had suspect- even within the walls of the wide and lofty ed any offensive intention, the impulse to resent-room; for in one corner, amidst a confused heap ment would have been less strong in him than of carved marble fragments and rusty armor, the desire to conquer good-will. Piero made a grimace which was habitual with him when he was spoken to with flattering suavity. He grinned, stretched out the corners of his mouth, and pressed down his brows, so as to defy any divination of his feelings under that kind of stroking. “And what may that need be ?" he said, after a moment's pause. In his heart he was tempted by the hinted opportunity of applying his invention. "I want a very delicate miniature device taken from certain fables of the poets, which you will know how to combine for me. It must be painted on a wooden case-I will show you the size-in the form of a triptych. The inside may be simple gilding: it is on the outside I want the device. It is a favorite subject with you Florentines-the triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne; but I want it treated in a new waya story in Ovid will give you the necessary hints. The young Bacchus must be seated in a ship, his head bound with clusters of grapes, and a spear entwined with vine-leaves in his hand: dark-berried ivy must wind about the masts and sails, the oars must be thyrsi, and flowers must wreathe themselves about the poop; leopards and tigers must be crouching before him, and dolphins must be sporting round. But I want to have the fair-haired Ariadne with him, made immortal with her golden crown-that is not in Ovid's story, but no matter, you will conceive it all-and above there must be young tufts of long grass and dark feathery fennel had made their way, and a large stone vase, tilted on one side, seemed to be pouring out the ivy that streamed around. All about the walls hung pen and oil sketches of fantastic sea-monsters; dances of satyrs and menads; Saint Margaret's resurrection out of the devouring dragon; Madonnas with the supernal light upon them; studies of plants and grotesque heads; and on irregular rough shelves a few books were scattered among great drooping bunches of corn, bullocks' horns, pieces of dried honey-comb, stones with patches of rare-colored lichen, skulls and bones, peacocks' feathers, and large birds' wings. Rising from among the dirty litter of the floor were lay figures-one in the frock of a Vallombrosan monk, strangely surmounted by a helmet with barred visor, another smothered with brocade and skins hastily tossed over it. Among this heterogeneous still life, several speckled and white pigeons were perched or strutting, too tame to fly at the entrance of men; three corpulent toads were crawling in an intimate friendly way near the door-stone; and a white rabbit, apparently the model for that which was frightening Cupid in the picture of Mars and Venus, placed on the central easel, was twitching its nose with much content on a box full of bran. "And now, Messer Greco," said Piero, signing to Tito to sit down on a low stool near the door, and then standing over him with folded arms, "don't be trying to see every thing at once, like Messer Domeneddio, but let me know how large you would have this same Tito, rather ashamed of himself for this strange and sudden sensitiveness, so opposed to his usual "And now for the book," said Piero, reaching down a manuscript volume. "There's nothing about the Ariadne there," said Tito, giving him the passage: "but you will remember I want the crowned Ariadne by the side of the young Bacchus; she must have golden hair." "Ha!" said Piero, abruptly, pursing up his lips again. "And you want them to be likenesses, eh?" he added, looking down into Tito's face. "That is a subject after your own heart, Messer Piero—a revel interrupted by a ghost. You seem to love the blending of the terrible with the gay. I suppose that is the reason your shelves are so well furnished with death'sheads, while you are painting those roguish loves who are running away with the armor of Mars. I begin to think you are a Cynic philosopher in the pleasant disguise of a cunning painter." "Not I, Messer Greco; a philosopher is the last sort of animal I would choose to resemble. I find it enough to live, without spinning lies to account for life. Fowls cackle, asses bray, women chatter, and philosophers spin false rea Tito laughed and blushed. "I know you are great at portraits, Messer Piero; but I could not ask Ariadne to sit for you, because the paint-sons-that's the effect the sight of the world ing is a secret." brings out of them. Well, I am an animal that paints instead of cackling, or braying, or spinning lies. And now, I think, our business is done; you'll keep to your side of the bargain about the Edipus and Antigone ?" "There it is! I want her to sit to me. Giovanni Vespucci wants me to paint him a picture of Edipus and Antigone at Colonos, as he has expounded it to me: I have a fancy for the subject, and I want Bardo and his daughter to sit for it. Now, you ask them; and then I'll put the likeness into Ariadne." "Agreed, if I can prevail with them. And your price for the Bacchus and Ariadne ?" "Baie! If you get them to let me paint them, that will pay me. I'd rather not have your money: you may pay for the case." "And when shall I sit for you?" said Tito, "for if we have one likeness, we must have two." "I don't want your likeness-I've got it already," said Piero, "only I've made you look frightened. I must take the fright out of it for Bacchus." As he was speaking Piero laid down the book and went to look among some paintings, propped with their faces against the wall. He returned with an oil-sketch in his hand. "I call this as good a bit of portrait as I ever did," he said, looking at it, as he advanced. "Yours is a face that expresses fear well, because it's naturally a bright one. I noticed it the first time I saw you. The rest of the picture is hardly sketched; but I've painted you in thoroughly.' Piero turned the sketch and held it toward Tito's eyes. He saw himself with his right hand uplifted, holding a wine-cup in the attitude of triumphant joy, but with his face turned away from the cup with an expression of such intense fear in the dilated eyes and pallid lips that he felt a cold stream through his veins, as if he were being thrown into sympathy with his imaged self. "You are beginning to look like it already," said Piero, with a short laugh, moving the picture away again. "He's seeing a ghost-that fine young man. I shall finish it some day, when I've settled what sort of ghost is the most terrible-whether it should look solid, like a dead man come to life, or half transparent, like a mist." "I will do my best," said Tito-on this strong hint, immediately moving toward the door. "And you'll let me know at Nello's. No need to come here again." "I understand," said Tito, laughingly, lifting his hand in sign of friendly parting. CHAPTER XIX. THE OLD MAN'S HOPE. MESSER BERNARDO DEL NERO was as inexorable as Romola had expected in his advice that the marriage should be deferred till Easter, and in this matter Bardo was entirely under the ascendency of his sagacious and practical friend. Nevertheless, Bernardo himself, though he was as far as ever from any susceptibility to the personal fascination in Tito which was felt by others, could not altogether resist that argument of success which is always powerful with men of the world. Tito was making his way rapidly in high quarters. He was especially growing in favor with the young Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, who had even spoken of Tito's forming part of his learned retinue on an approaching journey to Rome; and the bright young Greek, who had a tongue that was always ready without ever being quarrelsome, was more and more wished for at gay suppers in the Via Larga, and at Florentine games in which he had no pretension to excel, and could admire the incomparable skill of Piero de' Medici in the most graceful manner in the world. By an unfailing law of sequence, Tito's reputation as an agreeable companion in "magnificent" society made his learning and talent appear more lustrous; and he was really accomplished enough to prevent an exaggerated estimate from being hazardous to him. Messer Bernardo had old prejudices and attachments which now began to argue down the newer and feebler prejudice against the This question of the library was the subject of more than one discussion with Bernardo del Nero when Christmas was turned and the prospect of the marriage was becoming near-but always out of Bardo's hearing. For Bardo nursed a vague belief, which they dared not disturb, that his property, apart from the library, was adequate to meet all demands. He would not even, except under a momentary pressure of angry despondency, admit to himself that the will by which he had disinherited Dino would leave Romola the heir of nothing but debts; or that he needed any thing from patronage beyond the security that a separate locality should be assigned to his library, in return for a deed of gift by which he made it over to the Florentine Republic. young Greek stranger who was rather too sup- | fore his death receive the longed-for security ple. To the old Florentine it was impossible to concerning his library: that it should not be despise the recommendation of standing well merged in another collection; that it should with the best Florentine families, and since Tito not be transferred to a body of monks, and be began to be thoroughly received into that circle called by the name of a monastery; but that it whose views were the unquestioned standard of should remain forever the Bardi Library, for the social value, it seemed irrational not to admit use of Florentines. For the old habit of trustthat there was no longer any check to satisfac-ing in the Medici could not die out while their tion in the prospect of such a son-in-law for influence was still the strongest lever in the Bardo, and such a husband for Romola. It State; and Tito, once possessing the ear of the was undeniable that Tito's coming had been the Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, might do more dawn of a new life for both father and daughter, even than Messer Bernardo toward winning the and the first promise had even been surpassed. desired interest, for he could demonstrate to a The blind old scholar-whose proud truthful- learned audience the peculiar value of Bardo's ness would never enter into that commerce of collection. Tito himself talked sanguinely of feigned and preposterous admiration which, va- such a result, willing to cheer the old man, and ried by a corresponding measurelessness in vitu- conscious that Romola repaid those gentle words peration, made the woof of all learned inter- to her father with a sort of adoration that no course-had fallen into neglect even among his direct tribute to herself could have won from fellow-citizens, and when he was alluded to at her. all, it had long been usual to say that though his blindness and loss of his son were pitiable misfortunes, he was tiresome in contending for the value of his own labors; and that his discontent was a little inconsistent in a man who had been openly regardless of religious rites, and in days past had refused offers made to him from various quarters, if he would only take orders, without which it was not easy for patrons to provide for every scholar. But since Tito's coming, there was no longer the same monotony in the thought that Bardo's name suggested; the old man, it was understood, had left off his plaints, and the fair daughter was no longer to be shut up in dowerless pride, waiting for a parentado. The winning manners and growing favor of the handsome Greek who was expected to enter into the double relation of son and husband helped to make the new interest a thoroughly friendly one, and it was no longer a rare occurrence when a visitor enlivened the quiet library. Elderly men came from that indefinite prompting to renew former intercourse which arises when an old acquaintance begins to be newly talked about; and young men whom Tito had asked leave to bring once, found it easy to go again when they overtook him on his way to the Via de' Bardi, and, resting their hands on his shoulder, fell into easy chat with him. For it was pleasant to look at Romola's beauty: to see her, like old Firenzuola's type of womanly majesty, "sitting with a certain grandeur, speaking with gravity, smiling with modesty, and casting around, as it were, an odor of queenliness;' "* and she seemed to unfold like a strong white lily under this genial breath of admiration and homage; it was all one to her with her new bright life in Tito's love. Tito had even been the means of strengthening the hope in Bardo's mind that he might be * "Quando una donna è grande, ben formata, porta ben sua persona, siede con una certa grandezza, parla con gravità, ride con modestia, e finalmente getta quasi un odor di Regina; allora noi diciamo quella donna pare una maestà, ella ha una maestà." FIRENZUOLA: Della Bellezza delle Donne. F "My opinion is," said Bernardo to Romola, in a consultation they had under the loggia, "that since you are to be married, and Messer Tito will have a competent income, we should begin to wind up the affairs, and ascertain exactly the sum that would be necessary to save the library from being touched, instead of letting the debts accumulate any longer. Your father needs nothing but his shred of mutton and his maccaroni every day, and I think Messer Tito may engage to supply that for the years that remain; he can let it be in place of the morgencap." "Tito has always known that my life is bound up with my father's," said Romola, flushing; "and he is better to my father than I am: he delights in making him happy." "Ah, he's not made of the same clay as other men, is he?" said Bernardo, smiling. "Thy father has thought of shutting woman's folly out of thee by cramming thee with Greek and Latin; but thou hast been as ready to believe in the first pair of bright eyes and the first soft words that have come within reach of thee, as if thou couldst say nothing by heart but Paternosters, like other Christian men's daughters." know better. You know I love my father and you because you are both good; and I love Tito, too, because he is so good. I see it, I feel it, in every thing he says and does. And he is handsome, too: why should I not love him the better for that? It seems to me beauty is part of the finished language by which goodness speaks. You know you must have been a very handsome youth, godfather"-she looked up with one of her happy, loving smiles at the stately old man-" you were about as tall as Tito, and you had very fine eyes; only you looked a little sterner and prouder, and-" "And Romola likes to have all the pride to herself?" said Bernardo, not inaccessible to this pretty coaxing. "However, it is well that in one way Tito's demands are more modest than those of any Florentine husband of fitting rank that we should have been likely to find for you; he wants no dowry." So it was settled in that way between Messer Bernardo del Nero, Romola, and Tito. Bardo assented with a wave of the hand when Bernardo told him that he thought it would be well now to begin to sell property and clear off debts-being accustomed to think of debts and property as a sort of thick wood that his imagination never even penetrated, still less got beyond. And Tito set about winning Messer Bernardo's respect by inquiring, with his ready faculty, into Florentine money-matters, the secrets of the Monti or public funds, the values of real property, and the profits of banking. not entirely monotonous, since the consequent Still It was the high morning, but the merry spirits of the Carnival were still inclined to lounge and recapitulate the last night's jests, when Tito Melema was walking at a brisk pace on the way to the Via de' Bardi. Young Bernardo Dovizi, who now looks at us out of Raphael's portrait as the keen-eyed Cardinal da Bibbiena, was with him; and as they went, they held animated talk about some subject that had evidently no relation to the sights and sounds through which they were pushing their way along the Por' Santa Maria. Nevertheless, as they discussed, smiled, and gesticulated, they both, from time to time, "You will soon forget that Tito is not a Flor-cast quick glances around them, and at the turnentine, godfather," said Romola. "See how ing toward the Lung' Arno, leading to the Ponte he is learning every thing about Florence!" "It seems to me he is one of the demoni, who are of no particular country, child," said Bernardo, smiling. “His mind is a little too nimble to be weighted with all the stuff we men carry about in our hearts." Romola smiled too, in happy confidence. CHAPTER XX. THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL. Rubaconte, Tito had become aware, in one of these rapid surveys, that there was some one not far off him by whom he very much desired not to be recognized at that moment. His time and thoughts were thoroughly preoccupied, for he was looking forward to a unique occasion in his life--he was preparing for his betrothal, which was to take place on the evening of this very day. The ceremony had been resolved upon rather suddenly; for although preparations toward the marriage had been going forward for some time-chiefly in the application of Tito's florins to the fitting-up of rooms in Bardo's dwellIt was the last week of the Carnival, and the ing, which, the library excepted, had always streets of Florence were at their fullest and been scantily furnished-it had been intended noisiest there were the masked processions, to defer both the betrothal and the marriage unchanting songs, indispensable now they had til Easter, when Tito's year of probation, insistonce been introduced by Lorenzo; there was ed on by Bernardo del Nero, would haye been the favorite rigoletto, or round dance, footed in complete. But when an express proposition had piazza under the blue frosty sky; there were come that Tito should follow the Cardinal Giopractical jokes of all sorts, from throwing com- vanni to Rome to help Bernardo Dovizi with his fits to throwing stones-especially stones. For superior knowledge of Greek in arranging a lithe boys and striplings, always a strong element brary, and there was no possibility of declining in Florentine crowds, became at the height of what lay so plainly on the road to advancement, Carnival-time as loud and unmanageable as he had become urgent in his entreaties that the tree-crickets, and it was their immemorial priv- betrothal might take place before his departure: ilege to bar the way with poles to all passen- there would be the less delay before the marriage gers, until a tribute had been paid toward fur- on his return, and it would be less painful to nishing these lovers of strong sensations with part if he and Romola were outwardly as well suppers and bonfires; to conclude with the stand- as inwardly pledged to each other-if he had a ing entertainment of stone-throwing, which was claim which defied Messer Bernardo or any one else to nullify it. For the betrothal, at which Her blue eyes widened with tears, and she rings were exchanged and mutual contracts were said nothing. Tito was afraid of something signed, made more than half the legality of mar- worse than ridicule if he were seen in the Via riage, which was completed on a separate occa- de' Bardi with a girlish contadina looking pasion by the nuptial benediction. Romola's feel-.thetically at him. It was a street of high, silenting had met Tito's in this wish, and the consent looking dwellings, not of traffic; but Bernardo of the elders had been won. del Nero, or some one almost as dangerous, might come up at any moment. Even if it had not been the day of his betrothal, the incident would have been awkward and annoying. Yet it would be brutal-it was impossible-to drive Tessa away with harsh words. That accursed folly of his with the cerretano-that it should have lain buried in a quiet way for months, and now start up before him, as this unseasonable crop of vexation! He could not speak harshly, but he spoke hurriedly. And now Tito was hastening, amidst arrangements for his departure the next day, 'to snatch a morning visit to Romola, to say and hear any last words that were needful to be said before their meeting for the betrothal in the evening. It was not a time when any recognition could be pleasant that was at all likely to detain him; still less a recognition by Tessa. And it was unmistakably Tessa whom he had caught sight of moving along, with a timid and forlorn look, toward that very turn of the Lung' Arno which he was just rounding. As he continued his talk with the young Dovizi, he had an uncomfortable under-current of consciousness which told him that Tessa had seen him and would certainly follow him there was no escaping her along this direct road by the Arno, and over the Ponte Rubaconte. But she would not dare to speak to him or approach him while he was not alone, and he would continue to keep Dovizi with him till they reached Bardo's door. He quickened his pace, and took up new threads of talk; but all the while the sense that Tessa was behind him, though he had no physical evidence of the fact, grew stronger and stronger; it was very irritating-perhaps all the more so because a certain tenderness and pity for the poor little thing made the determination to escape without any visible notice of her a not altogether agreeable resource. Yet Tito persevered and carried his companion to the door, cleverly managing his addio without turning his face in a direction where it was possible for him to see an importunate pair of blue eyes; and as he went up the stone steps, he tried to get rid of unpleasant thoughts by saying to himself that, after all, Tessa might not have seen him, or, if she had, might not have followed him. But perhaps because that possibility could not be relied on strongly-when the visit was over, he came out of the door-way with a quick step and an air of unconsciousness as to any thing that might be on his right hand or his left. Our eyes are so constructed, however, that they take in a wide angle without asking leave of our will; and Tito knew that there was a little figure in a white hood standing near the door-way-knew it quite well, before he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was a real grasp, and not a light, timid touch; for poor Tessa, seeing his rapid step, had started forward with a desperate effort. But when he stopped and turned toward her her face wore a frightened look, as if she dreaded the effect of her boldness. "Tessa!" said Tito, with more sharpness in his voice than she had ever heard in it before. "Why are you here? You must not follow me ---you must not stand about door-places waiting for me." "Tessa, I can not-must not talk to you here. I will go on to the bridge and wait for you there. Follow me slowly." He turned and walked fast to the Ponte Rubaconte, and there leaned against the wall of one of the quaint little houses that rise at even distances on the bridge, looking toward the way by which Tessa would come. It would have softened a much harder heart than Tito's to see the little thing advancing with her round face much paled and saddened since he had parted from it at the door of the "Nunziata." Happily it was the least frequented of the bridges, and there were scarcely any passengers on it at this moment. He lost no time in speaking as soon as she came near him. "Now, Tessa, I have very little time. You must not cry. Why did you follow me this morning? You must not do so again. And "I thought," said Tessa, speaking in a whisper, and struggling against a sob that would rise immediately at this new voice of Tito's-"I thought you wouldn't be so long before you came to take care of me again. And the patrigno beats me, and I can't bear it any longer. always when I come for a holiday I walk about to find you, and I can't. Oh, please don't send me away from you again! It has been so long, and I cry so now, because you never come to me. I can't help it, for the days are so long, and I don't mind about the goats or kids, or any thing-and I can't—" The sobs came fast now, and the great tears. Tito felt that he could not do otherwise than comfort her. Send her away-yes; that he must do, at once. But it was all the more impossible to tell her any thing that would leave her in a state of hopeless grief. He saw new trouble in the back-ground, but the difficulty of the moment was too pressing for him to weigh consequences. "Tessa, my little one," he said, in his old caressing tones, "you must not cry. Bear with the cross patrigno a little longer. I will come back to you. But I'm going now to Rome-a long, long way off. I shall come back in a few weeks, and then I promise you to come and see you. Promise me to be good and wait for me." It was the well-remembered voice again, and |