rent. These intrepid sightseers, nailed to their places, would have
waited half their lives without giving the least sign of impatience.

At last, about noon, a cannon-shot was heard, and a cry of general
satisfaction followed it. It was the signal that the procession had
crossed the threshold of the church. In the same moment a charge of
carabineers swept off the people who were obstructing the middle of the
street, the regiments of the line opened floodgates for the overflowing
crowd, and soon nothing remained on the causeway but some scared dog,
shouted at by the people, hunted off by the soldiers, and fleeing at
full speed. The procession came out through the Via di Vescovato.
First came the guilds of merchants and craftsmen, the hatters, weavers,
bakers, butchers, cutlers, and goldsmiths. They wore the prescribed
dress: black coats, knee breeches, low shoes and silver buckles. As the
countenances of these gentlemen offered nothing very interesting to the
multitude, whisperings arose, little by little, among the spectators,
then some bold spirits ventured a jest or two upon the fattest or
the baldest of the townsmen, and at last the boldest of the lazzaroni
slipped between the soldiers' legs to collect the wax that was running
down from the lighted tapers.

After the craftsmen, the religious orders marched past, from the
Dominicans to the Carthusians, from the Carmelites to the Capuchins.
They advanced slowly, their eyes cast down, their step austere, their
hands on their hearts; some faces were rubicund and shining, with large
cheek-hones and rounded chins, herculean heads upon bullnecks; some,
thin and livid, with cheeks hollowed by suffering and penitence, and
with the look of living ghosts; in short, here were the two sides of
monastic life.

At this moment, Nunziata and Gelsomina, two charming damsels, taking
advantage of an old corporal's politeness, pushed forward their pretty
heads into the first rank. The break in the line was conspicuous; but
the sly warrior seemed just a little lax in the matter of discipline.

"Oh, there is Father Bruno!" said Gelsomina suddenly. "Good-day, Father
Bruno."

"Hush, cousin! People do not talk to the procession."

"How absurd! He is my confessor. May I not say good-morning to my
confessor?"

"Silence, chatterboxes!"

"Who was that spoke?"

"Oh, my dear, it was Brother Cucuzza, the begging friar."

"Where is he? Where is he?"

"There he is, along there, laughing