religion.

They passed by the Schifanoia at a sober walk, regardless of the crowd.

"My heart," Angioletto said, "there is here what I suppose to be the
most famous shrine in Romagna. I mean that of the Madonna degli Greci, a
pompous image from Byzantium, which proceeded undoubtedly from the
_bottega_ of Saint Luke. If that Signore had been as indifferent a
painter as he was great Saint (which is surely impossible), we should do
well to visit his Madonna. Her holiness is past dispute; there are very
few miracles which she could not perform if she chose. As well as
burning a candle apiece before her face, we could lay our prayers and
new love at her feet. Beyond question she will hear and bring us good
luck. What do you think?"

"I think as you think, Angioletto," said Bellaroba, and held him closer.

"Let us go then. I know the way very well."

So they went to the tune which the young lad sang under his breath, and
before long came to a piazza, not very broad, but flagged all over and
set about with stately brick buildings, having on the left the stone
front of a great church, tier upon tier of arches interlaced. The door
of it was guarded by two stone lions, and above the porch was the figure
of a buxom lady with a smile half saucy, half benevolent, to whom
Angioletto doffed his cap.

"They call her Donna Ferrara," he explained. "This is the Duomo. Let us
go in."

They dismounted; a lame boy held the mule; they entered the church.

It was very large, very dark, and nearly empty. Angioletto put his arm
round Bellaroba's waist, and they began to pace the aisle in
confidential talk.

"Where are you going to live in this place, Bellaroba?" he asked her.

"I don't know. Olimpia knows. There was a Monna Nanna we were to live
with, I think. But Olimpia will decide. I must do as she wishes."

"But why?"

"She is older than I am--two years. Besides I always have. And my mother
commanded it."

"Your last appears to me the only reason worth a thought. Do you not
want to know what I think of it, Bellaroba?" He bent his head towards
her. Her answer, the flutter of a quick little kiss, pleased him. "Well,
I will tell you," said he. "I think we should be married at once--this
very minute. I do indeed."

"Oh!" said Bellaroba, blushing beautifully.

"I can see that you are pleased at this, my dear," Angioletto said,
looking at her. They were head for head level, these children. "But
what would Olimpia say?"

Bellar