t and gentle warmth upon the sombre
facades of Broletto. The Piazza was packed with people; the balconies
and belvideres were filled with motley groups. Even ladies were
contending for the best places to see the horrible sight. One mother
showed her little boy all this preparation for death, and said to
him:--

"Do you see that man yonder with the long black beard and rough skin?
He devours bad boys in two mouthfuls: if you cry, he will carry you
off."

The frightened child tightly clasped his mother's neck with his small
arms, and hid his face in her breast. Another, half ashamed at being
seen there, asked, "Who is the victim?"

"It is," replied a neighboring stranger, "the wife of the man who was
beheaded yesterday."

"Ah, ah!" put in a third, "then it is the mother of the little boy who
was executed yesterday with Signor Pusterla?"

"How was that?" resumed the first speaker; "did they behead a child?"

"It is only too true," said a woman, joining in the conversation; "and
such a pretty little boy! Two blue eyes, bluer than the sky, and a
face as gentle and sweet as that of the Christ-child, and hair like
threads of gold. I came here to show my boy how the wicked are
punished, and as I stood near the scaffold, I heard and saw
everything!"

"Tell us, tell us, Mother Radegonda." And Radegonda, enchanted at
occupying the centre of attention, began.

"I will tell you," she said. "When he was there--but for the love of
charity, give me more room; you do not wish to stifle my little
Tanuccio?--Well, when he began to ascend the ladder, ah, see, the
child does not wish to go! He stamps his foot, he weeps, he cries--"

"I believe you," interrupted a person named Pizzabrasa, "for I heard
all the way from the Loggia dei Mercanti, where I was being crushed,
his cries of 'Papa! Mamma!'"

"That was it," continued Radegonda; "and he recoiled with horror
before that savage figure," she said, pointing with her forefinger to
Mastro Impicca. "His father sobbed, and could not speak; but his
confessor whispered in his ear--"

"I saw also," interrupted Pizzabrasa, determined to show that he had
been an eye-witness, and he continued:--"the golden hair of the child
soon mingled with the black hair and beard of the father. One would
have said they were yellow flames on a funeral pall. I also saw the
child caress the priest who talked to him, and the priest--"

"Who is the priest?" interrupted the first speaker. The question wa