s if he would have knelt upon the stones, only she
would not let him. Then they whispered for, as near as I can guess,
half an hour--Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart
then coming along the street, and presto!--Enrica was within the
garden in an instant, the gate was closed, and Nobili disappeared."

Any further talk is now cut short by the approach of Cassandra,
a friend of Brigitta's. Cassandra is a servant in a neighboring
eating-house, a tall, large-boned woman, a colored handkerchief tied
over her head, and much tawdry jewelry about her hands and neck.

"What are you two chattering about?" asks Cassandra sharply. "It seems
entertaining. What's the news? I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me
directly."

"Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grandchild," answers
Brigitta, with a whine.--Brigitta was rather in dread of Cassandra,
whose temper was fierce, and who, being strong, knocked people down
occasionally if they offended her.

"Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores for her shop,
but all her money is gone to the grandchild in the hospital, who is
ill, very ill!" and Brigitta sighs and turns up the whites of her
eyes.

"Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her shriveled old
face. "Yes--it is just that. All the money gone to the grandchild,
the son of my Beppo--that's the soldier who is with the king's
army.--Alas! all gone; my money, my son, and all."

Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands despairingly.

The mass was now nearly over; many people were already leaving the
cathedral; but the swell of the organs and the sweet tones of voices
still burst forth from time to time. Festive masses are always
long. It might not seem so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still
perseveringly fanning themselves, nor to the golden youths who
were diverting them; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a
temptation stronger than the older portion of the congregation could
resist. By twos and threes they slipped out.

This is the moment for the three women to use their eyes and their
tongues--very softly indeed--for they were now elbowed by some of the
best people in Lucca--but to use them.

"There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Brigitta, who was
using her one eye diligently.

"Mercy! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They need sell many
drugs at papa-chemist's to pay for Baldassare's clothes. Why, he's
combed and scented lik