all the veins
and arteries of our municipal body flow, Castruccio was received
with all the pomp of a Roman triumph. Ah! cavaliere"--and the count's
lustrous eyes rested on Trenta, who was devouring every word he
uttered with silent delight--"those were proud days for Lucca!"

"Recall them--recall them, O Count!" cried Trenta. "It does me good to
listen."

"Thirty thousand Florentine prisoners followed Castruccio to Lucca.
His soldiers were laden with booty. They drove before them innumerable
herds of cattle; strings of wagons, filled with the spoils of a
victorious campaign, blocked the causeways. Last of all appeared,
rumbling on its ancient wheels, the carroccio, or state-car of
the Florentine Republic, bearing their captured flags lowered, and
trailing in the dust. Castruccio--whose sole representatives are the
Marchesa Guinigi and yourself, signorina--Castruccio followed. He
was seated in a triumphal chariot, drawn by eight milk-white horses.
Banners fluttered around him. A golden crown of victory was suspended
above his head. He was arrayed in a flowing mantle of purple, over a
suit of burnished armor. His brows were bound by a wreath of golden
laurel. In his right hand he carried a jeweled sceptre. Upon his
knees lay his victorious sword unsheathed. Never was manly beauty more
transcendent. His lofty stature and majestic bearing fulfilled the
expectation of a hero. How can I describe his features? They are known
to all of you by that famous picture (the only likeness of him extant)
belonging to the Marchesa Guinigi, placed in the presence-chamber of
her palace."

"Yes, yes," burst forth Trenta, no longer able to control his
enthusiasm. "Old as I am, when I think of those days, it makes me
young again. Alas! what a change! Now we have lost not only
our independence, but our very identity. Our sovereign is
gone--banished--our state broken up. We are but the slaves of a
monster called the kingdom of Italy, ruled by Piedmontese barbarians!"

"Hush!--hush!" whispered the irrepressible Baldassare. "Pray do not
interrupt the count." Even the stolid Adonis was moved.

"The daughters of the noblest houses of Lucca," continued Marescotti,
"strewed flowers in Castruccio's path. The magistrates and nobles
received him on their knees. Young as he was, with one voice they
saluted him 'Father of his Country!'"

The count paused. He bowed his head toward the sarcophagus before
which they were gathered, in a mute tribute