cotti declares," continued the cavaliere, "that even now Rome is
still in bondage, and sunk in superstition. He calls it superstition.
He would like to shut up all the churches. He believes in nothing
but poetry and Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls
superstition."

"Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; she was
determined to contradict the cavaliere. "You are a bigot, Trenta--an
old bigot. You believe every thing a priest tells you. A fine
exhibition we had yesterday of what that comes to! The Holy
Countenance! Do you think any educated person in Lucca believes in
the Holy Countenance? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness--for
idleness, I say. Priests love idleness; they go into the Church
because they are too idle to work." She raised her voice, and
looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before her the picture of meek
endurance--holding the door-handle. "I hope I shall live to see all
festivals abolished. Why didn't the Government do it altogether when
they were about it?--no convents, no monks, no holidays, except on
Sunday! Make the people work--work for their bread! We should have
fewer taxes, and no beggars."

Trenta's benignant face had gradually assumed as severe an aspect as
it was capable of bearing. He pointed to Enrica, of whom he had up to
this time taken no notice beyond a friendly smile--the marchesa did
not like Enrica to be noticed--now he pointed to her, and shook his
head deprecatingly. Could he have read Enrica's thoughts, he need have
feared no contamination to her from the marchesa; her thoughts were
far away--she had not listened to a single word.

"Dio Santo!" he exclaimed at last, clasping his hands together and
speaking low, so as not to be overheard by Enrica--"that I should live
to hear a Guinigi talk so! Do you forget, marchesa, that it was under
the banner of the blessed Holy Countenance (_Vulturum di Lucca_),
miraculously cast on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, that your
great ancestor Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli overcame the
Florentines at Alto Passo?"

"The banner didn't help him, nor St. Nicodemus either--I affirm
that," answered she, angrily. Her temper was rising. "I will not be
contradicted, cavaliere--don't attempt it. I never allow it. Even my
husband never contradicted me--and he was a Guinigi. Is the city to
go mad, eat, drink, and hang out old curtains because the priests
bid them? Did _you_ see Nobili's house?" She aske