another and who met here as in a
friendly drawing-room, and the folks belonging to adverse parties who did
not speak together but who elbowed each other, and whose glances
penetrated to each other's soul. Then a revelation came to Pierre, and he
suddenly understood the Corso, the ancient custom, the passion and glory
of the city. Its pleasure lay precisely in the very narrowness of the
street, in that forced elbowing which facilitated not only desired
meetings but the satisfaction of curiosity, the display of vanity, and
the garnering of endless tittle-tattle. All Roman society met here each
day, displayed itself, spied on itself, offering itself in spectacle to
its own eyes, with such an indispensable need of thus beholding itself
that the man of birth who missed the Corso was like one out of his
element, destitute of newspapers, living like a savage. And withal the
atmosphere was delightfully balmy, and the narrow strip of sky between
the heavy, rusty mansions displayed an infinite azure purity.

Dario never ceased smiling, and slightly inclining his head while he
repeated to Pierre the names of princes and princesses, dukes and
duchesses--high-sounding names whose flourish had filled history, whose
sonorous syllables conjured up the shock of armour on the battlefield and
the splendour of papal pomp with robes of purple, tiaras of gold, and
sacred vestments sparkling with precious stones. And as Pierre listened
and looked he was pained to see merely some corpulent ladies or
undersized gentlemen, bloated or shrunken beings, whose ill-looks seemed
to be increased by their modern attire. However, a few pretty women went
by, particularly some young, silent girls with large, clear eyes. And
just as Dario had pointed out the Palazzo Buongiovanni, a huge
seventeenth-century facade, with windows encompassed by foliaged
ornamentation deplorably heavy in style, he added gaily:

"Ah! look--that's Attilio there on the footway. Young Lieutenant
Sacco--you know, don't you?"

Pierre signed that he understood. Standing there in uniform, Attilio, so
young, so energetic and brave of appearance, with a frank countenance
softly illumined by blue eyes like his mother's, at once pleased the
priest. He seemed indeed the very personification of youth and love, with
all their enthusiastic, disinterested hope in the future.

"You'll see by and by, when we pass the palace again," said Dario. "He'll
still be there and I'll show you something.